


As the Ink Dries....

by NightReaderEnigma



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, An unabashed fluff fest, Angst and Feels, Canon - Book, Canon Continuation, Caring, Comfort, Endgame, Eventual Smut, F/M, First Time, Fluff, In the Vale, Inktober 2019 but with writing, Now complete, POV Brienne of Tarth, POV Jaime Lannister, Post ADWD, Post LSH, Prompt Fic, Resolved Sexual Tension, Romance, Sexual Content, Smut, The Long Night, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Violence, WIP, Wights, Winter, all the feels, did I mention the drama and mutual longing?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-29
Updated: 2019-12-11
Packaged: 2021-01-07 23:03:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 31
Words: 47,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21225704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NightReaderEnigma/pseuds/NightReaderEnigma
Summary: Jaime & Brienne survived Lady Stoneheart and the Brotherhood without banners.Together they brave the Vale in Winter seeking Lady Sansa, their futures intrinsically bound by their oaths and unique rapport.Always remaining side by side - inseparable and fated.Their love for each other harboured deeply within, silenced only by their insecurities as their journey takes them through the turmoils of an unsettled Westeros and propels them towards each other's arms....





	1. Injured

**Author's Note:**

> So I decided to play with the prompts for Inktober. Now I know it’s a little too late and I’m writing instead of drawing.  
But hey - it’s still fun right? LOL  
I am challenging myself to follow them in order, creating an improvised story as I go (premise as mentioned above). 
> 
> As I began this on the 29th of October, I intend to begin with this day’s prompt and work my way through chronologically from there.  
I don’t promise an addition every day but let’s see where this takes me. Chapters are named after the corresponding prompt.  
Here we go!

Jaime reined up his horse, diving from the saddle to approach the warrior maid. Her own mount whinnying piteously as it struggled to its feet. A layer of treacherous ice glimmered ominously in the midday sun, coating the ground and melting to form slippery patches of water against its surface. 

“Brienne….” 

“I’m fine.” She spoke through gritted teeth, flexing her ankle as she assessed the damage. “It’s just a sprain.” 

Jaime tried to assist her as she rose, but she flung him away roughly. He huffed in frustration. “If you would let me help…” 

“I have been coping on my own for years. I don’t need your aid.” 

“I know you don’t need it, but could accepting it really hurt?” 

She ignored him, hobbling over to the shaken steed and straightening the saddle upon its back. 

Her dismissive treatment provoked his temper. “You know, I can’t be certain which is the greater injury here – your ankle or your ego. But I sure as hell don’t appreciate the cold shoulder.”

Brienne wheeled on him, full of defensive indignation. “What do you want from me? To cry as the damsel in distress? To be grateful because you offered me your arm? Do you want me to rely upon you Jaime - is that it? Or is it all simply fodder, another angle from which you can provoke and torment me? To tease and ridicule? The great hulking beast of a woman who couldn’t keep her seat?” 

Her face was red from embarrassment and he wondered if he imagined the tears in her eyes or if they were simply reflecting the glistening snow caps. “Because if it is a choice, I will struggle through physical pain, if it means sparing me from more mockery. Words cut deeper than swords.” 

He saw it then. Her pride and her pain. The self-reliance which she had come to hide behind as a means of shielding her from people’s cruelty. Injuries inflicted with acid tongues.

Jaime took a deep breath and tried to frame a way to make her understand that their association had progressed past that now. It had grown, flourished. Metamorphosed into something profound and beyond making japes about taking a tumble. “You mistake me Brienne – I wouldn’t dare poke fun at you for such things.” He inhaled before adding. “Because in the Riverlands, you wiped my arse.” 

Now her face transformed again, into a sight seldom beheld. A rarity which Jaime never thought he would witness, believing its existence only myth. 

The corners of Brienne’s mouth twitched upwards and her shoulders shook. After a moment of observation a giant smile spread across his own features as he registered what was happening. Despite everything, on this mountainside, shivering amongst the frost and limping with a damaged ankle – the austere Maid of Tarth was laughing. 


	2. Catch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime POV  
Supplies are scarce and the winter is fierce...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inktober Prompt for today is 'Catch'  
I'm officially making this up as I go along but its fun! I appreciate anyone who wants to come on this creative ride with me.   
(Please forgive any errors, I'm doing this more off the cuff than my usual fics) 
> 
> I have jokingly added to myself that I get bonus points for interpreting the Prompt in more than one way....

Rations were scarce. Winter blanched the landscape and the woods had been thoroughly scoured. For even seasoned hunters with the best of instincts there was no game to be caught. Traps remained empty and at night the forests were quiet. Drifting to sleep to the sound of grumbling bellies instead of the tell-tale rustling of animals scrounging in the underbrush. 

In the weeks prior their own mounts had fallen victim to necessity and the treacherous terrain. Their sacrifice sustaining the weary travellers for another leg of the journey. But there was only so much horsemeat the pair of them could transport and now even those stores had been consumed. 

Jaime portioned up their supper; barely a few chunks of a carrot well and truly on the turn, in a watery broth made from the bones of the last half-starved rabbit they had happened across. He blinked the bleariness from his eyes as he tried to focus. Dizzy spells had become commonplace and wooziness was just another daily trial to accompany the relentless chill. He glanced over his shoulder to see if the wench was watching him. She sat on a frost-bitten log, hunching her hulking frame over their meagre fire. Her blonde hair hanging limply around her shoulders, framing her ashen face. Jaime had watched her grow paler by the day. 

Brienne would not tell him of her own suffering, but he knew it just the same. He was not naïve, had spent his life with a twin sister who was never unforthcoming when informing him of her hardships. He knew that women bled and that the process would strip the last of the strength the warrior maid had from her body. 

When first she gripped her abdomen a few days ago, he had presumed it hunger pains and she had not contradicted his theory. But after careful observation and a quick tally - where he realised they had travelled for well over a moon’s turn - he deduced the true cause. 

Quick and deft, he poured half of his portion into her cup, in the same manner he had for nigh on half a week. He knew Brienne would accept no chivalry if it was offered. She denied her sex and wished them to be treated as equals and comrades. The ear bashing he would receive if she knew of his actions would be neverending. But Jaime could not watch her fade any longer, observe the muscle tone he admired be eaten away by starvation. The strong swordswench he knew of corded sinew and raw power reduced to a feeble kitten. He was aware of the meat disappearing from his own frame but the stabs of pain through his belly could be borne. Knowing he was taking food out of Brienne’s mouth was something he truly could not stomach. 

“Here.” He offered her the mug and fork, which she gingerly took from his hand. Ever reticent and uncomplaining the only indication of her thoughts was the slight wrinkle of her nose as she inspected its contents. Jaime retrieved his own dinner, careful to cover the opening of the cup with his palm until he had sat far enough away that she could not note the differing levels. As he did so, Brienne shot him a scowl, the origins of which would remain a mystery. 

_Perhaps she is displeased with my culinary abilities. Cooking is not a skill which they feel the need to teach the Lords of the Rock. _

He offered his explanation by way of apologetic shrug. “I’m sorry that is the best I could manage.”

Her voice was even, once again disguising her true opinions. “It is fine Jaime – you did your best. I thank you.” 

They ate their meal in silence.

<><><><><><><> 

Two days hence conditions had not improved. Jaime struggled to concentrate, even as he made water. Chasing coherent notions and common sense around his spacey brain. His own thoughts manifesting like fleeting phantoms, spiriting away as hastily as they took shape. Bracing himself against a tree, he took deep breaths as he bade his quaking knees to carry him the distance back to the camp. 

He returned to the fireside as best he could, masking his quivering steps with an air of false ease. Despite his best efforts – all of which sapped what little strength he still possessed - Brienne was not buying into his charade. She studied his gait and face interchangeably, working her dour jaw as she sensed his deception. “Ser Jaime, are you alright?”

“As well as can be expected.” His endeavours to reassure came out a little too cheerful. He stood on the spot hoping that the swaying of the world was only visible to him. _Make a jape. _His jumbled inner dialogue urged him to cover his state of weakness. _She will not suspect if you act like yourself. _

But wit was beyond him now.“I wish it were colder.” 

The Maid of Tarth was on her feet, approaching him with the same caution she would a frightened deer. “My Lord, perhaps you’d best sit down.” 

“Why? We must walk on. We will never get out of here if we stop.” Transmitting the instructions to his legs a single muscle at a time, he placed one foot in front of the other. Demonstrating his intentions of soldiering on. His body however was not as compliant. As he transferred his weight from thigh to thigh, he felt his knees buckle beneath him. The snow-covered ground coming rushing up to greet him. 

Strong arms whipped out with reflexes like lightning, catching him mid-fall. For the second time in his life Jaime found himself cradled in her embrace. Softer and gentler than he could ever have imagined for a woman of her size. Holding him fast against her chest clad in boiled leather, she lowered to her knees, keeping him safely wrapped in her grasp. “Tell me Ser Jaime-” Her voice was a soothing whisper. “- why am I hale and healthy whilst you grapple with consciousness?” 

The lion only smiled, enjoying the feel of being enveloped in her warmth. True feelings bubbling to the surface through the mire of his foggy state. 

_It was worth it before... _His green eyes drifted shut, revelling in the rare soft touch of her oversized hands, feeling natural and ever so right. 

…. _But to be pillowed against my wench again, I would trade every scrap. She nourishes me more than food ever could. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt compliance: 
> 
> So we have 'caught' (past tense, does it count?) in reference to game.  
And Brienne 'catching' Jaime.


	3. Ripe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne's POV  
Their trek continues...

Brienne trudged through knee deep snow, her long legs lifting high as they furrowed deep gouges in the pristine blanket. She fixed her gaze upon her destination – a rocky outcrop stretching from the valley floor, the dark granite boulders contrasting against the whitewashed surrounds. Creating a natural ladder, which she fully intended to climb. 

Visibility was poor, the great walls of the mountains to either side of the ravine rising straight to the grey sky beyond. She knew they had to navigate their way out of this depression soon, lest they be doomed to wander its lengths until they died from malnutrition or exited in lands miles away and all their efforts to reach the Eyrie had been for naught. Soberingly, Brienne suspected the former was more likely.

Jaime was weak. He was loath to admit it but after his fainting spell several days ago he had only regained a little strength. Even after she had finally leeched a confession from his infuriating self, they did not have enough provisions to rectify the damage he had caused. His cheeks were sunken and the flesh hung from his bones in a way she hadn’t seen since they were captive. 

The warrior maid had deposited him within an inlet, partially shielded from the icy winds, commanding him to stay whilst she went to investigate. 

“Let me do it.” He had urged her. “If you roll your ankle again we will completely stall and surely starve. Try as I might, I will not be able to carry you.”

“And when you collapse?” She stared him down. “Pass out halfway up and plummet to your death?” 

“Pfft.” Jaime waved a dismissive hand. “You make it sound like I’m a giddy damsel. Perhaps I didn’t lose my legs due to malnourishment – mayhaps you made me swoon.” He blinked his eyes over-exaggeratedly. 

“One more comment like that and I will not return for you.” She had huffed, pulling her cloak tightly around her and departing before he could contrive another inane argument.

Removing her gloves she shoved them in her belt. The conditions were freezing but she didn’t trust their grip. With calloused hands she clasped the icy surface of the stone, seeking grooves and placing her feet into weathered crannies. Inch by inch she began to crawl her way up, both concentrating on where to place her hands and distracting herself from the perils.

She was used to climbing. There were plenty of rock formations by the seaside at home on Tarth. Some of her earliest recollections were of Galladon depositing her on smooth boulders, rounded and beaten by a thousand waves. Her clapping enthusiastically as he dove and played in their island oasis. Shaking her head, she snapped her attention back to the task at hand, before grief for her big brother found its way into her heart. 

_It is strange. Through all Jaime’s ceaseless conversations about his siblings, I have never thought to tell him of mine own. _

Brienne and Jaime travelled together. They bickered, they sparred and the lion teased - but deep down she knew he had her back. Together they had overcome more obstacles than most companions did in a lifetime. But still she concealed her innermost thoughts and feelings from him. Always afraid of letting him see too much. For once opened the channel would lead two ways and if she allowed him a glimpse of her soul, she knew he would find a way to integrate himself even further into her heart. 

It was already too late of course. Her love and loyalty both had been won. But he didn’t need to know it, that would only amplify her suffering as he was unlike to return any such sentiments and she didn’t want to see his eyes infused with pity. Already she was predisposed to insecurities, struggling through her lack of confidence which branded her viewpoint to always look for the negative. Like when night after night he had sat far away from her. Positioning himself on a separate log. She had wondered what she had done to offend him so, she was slow afterall and likely to say something which could be misconstrued. Then she decided he must have been sick of looking at her ugly face. Her scars were putting him off his supper, he grew tired of her company, wished he were saddled with anyone but her. 

_But he was syphoning food from his own rations, to give to me…._

It was such a beautiful gesture. Insulting, infuriating, deceitful and moronic but incredibly sweet just the same. Even as she berated him for being the very essence of an imbecilic fool, her chest had swollen with emotions and she felt herself surrender another inch of her heart. 

Finally, she reached the top, pulling herself over with immense effort, taking great care not to twist her ankle for a second time. Dusting the snow from her breeches and slipping her icy hands back into her gloves she finally surveyed her surrounds. The sight made her jaw drop open and she was certain she was encountering a mirage. 

A small orchard of trees stretched before her, their boughs and trunks shimmering, encrusted with crystals of frozen water. Their branches drooping low, weighted down by long dragging icicles and laden with winter pears. 

_Surely not. _

She covered the distance to the nearest tree with long strides. It seemed so unlikely, that any fruit could survive such inhospitable conditions but as she reached a hand tentatively towards the ripe pear, she vaguely recalled Lady Catelyn telling her about the varieties bred in the North to thrive where others died. 

_Salvation. _

The trees dominated the ledge on which she stood - clearly cultivated by human intervention - and she hastily walked the perimeter, searching for danger or signs of recent visitation. It was then she found the entrance to the tunnel, its mouth obscured from view by the trunks. The dark passageway slicing into the mountainside and promising an escape from the seemingly never-ending gully. To venture through would be risky but they were running out of options and for the time being at least, she was certain they were alone. Moving briskly she removed her cloak, harvesting several pears and bundling them within. Her teeth chattered but she kept active, the adrenaline produced by her discovery keeping her blood pumping and staving off the cold. 

Wrapping the precious cargo to cushion them as best she could, she knotted her cloak into a makeshift sack. Picking a spot where their landing would be softened by snow, she cringed as she dropped the bundle over the edge. Brienne knew she and Jaime would make short work of them - even if none survived the impact in one piece - but to chance carrying them would surely be her doom. Clambering back down the way she had come, excitement built within, fuelling her pace with a desperate desire to return to Jaime with her prize. 

When she reached the bottom, she snatched up the fruit, practically leaping through the drifts as she made her way back to his side. 

“You will not believe what I found.” The excitement in her voice echoed off the surrounding heights and Jaime turned towards the sound. 

“A snow snark?” 

“No.” She furrowed her brow in annoyance, his japes had an uncanny ability to vex her out of even the most uplifting of moods. “To begin – there is a way out of this valley.” She began to unwrap the contents of her cloak as she explained. “We will be gambling life and limb but I classify it as a worthwhile risk.” 

The lion nodded his agreement. “Because our prospects here are so appealing….” 

His eyes went wide as she produced one of the fruits – the pears on the bottom had indeed shattered from the impact and Brienne highly suspected the fabric would smell like pulp for weeks – but those on the top had survived, not that worse for wear. 

“….Brienne Tarth what have you got?”

There was something about the way he said her name which produced an electric current in her veins. The gooseflesh on her skin having little to do with the absence of her cloak. She swallowed, the muscles in her throat constricting as she stripped off her gloves and produced her dagger, slicing into the sweet green skin as a way of biding her time until her voice returned. 

“Winter pears.” Her hands trembled from cold, repressed emotion and excitement as she halved the fruit, sticky juice running down her long digits as she placed the blade aside. “I assure you they are edible, Lady Catelyn once told me of their existence-“

She spluttered to a stop mid-sentence as Jaime seized her hand, bolding drawing her finger into his mouth and sampling the nectar with his tongue. Sucking his way down its length as he tasted both the juice and her…. 

_Do not be silly, do not read anything into this. He is a starving man and it is the first decent sustenance he has had for days._

A warmth spread within her, banishing the winter more effectively than if the summer sun had just risen over the horizon. Nervously she grabbed half of the pear with her spare hand and thrust it towards him. 

“Here.” She feigned annoyance to cover her agitation, reclaiming her hand and withdrawing her finger from between his lips. “There was no need for that.” 

He delivered another of his smiles. Those enigmatic unreadable grins which sent her mind to reeling. It only vanished for a second as he sunk his teeth into the flesh, crunching and swallowing, his emerald eyes never leaving her face. 

Jaime licked his lips and winked. “Delicious.” 

Huffing she turned to her own meal, the moist crispness of the fruit seeming like the most incredible thing she had ever tasted. A heavenly choir singing in chorus as the flavours danced across her tastebuds, her finger still tingling from the heat of Jaime’s mouth. 

They sat there for what felt an age, stuffing themselves to the point of sickness. Until finally sated and fully engorged, she stifled a yawn. Unfurling the blanket from her pack, she laid it upon the ground, deducing that this was as good a place to sleep as any. Her eyes had only just closed when she felt the lion stretching beside her, pressing closer than was necessary. Especially for a man who had his own sleeping furs. 

“There is plenty of space.” She reminded him, her voice a tad too sharp. 

“I’m keeping you warm.” His body brushed against hers, causing a shiver within her system. “See? You’re cold.” 

_The temperature is not the reason that I am quivering… _

Jaime continued on, seemingly oblivious. “That’s what you get when you turn your cloak into a fruit pack. Not than I’m arguing, it was a stroke of genius and I’m thankful. I promise next time – it’s my cloak that gets sacrificed.” 

“I will shake it out tomorrow. It can still be worn.” She tensed as he nuzzled, his nose buried into her neck. 

_Surely that is unnecessary. _

Clearing her throat, she searched for an excuse to extricate herself from this awkward situation. “You may wish to maintain your distance Ser. We have not had the means to bathe and I am surely ripe.” 

“Me too. Besides, we have both smelt way worse. The cold keeps most the odour at bay and I’m practically certain the scent of my rotting hand in the Riverlands all but destroyed my sense of smell.” 

She audibly sighed, exhaling air loudly. _He seems quite determined. _

Closing her eyes once more, she convinced herself to endure his embrace. His warm, masculine form contouring to her back, fitting with more ease and comfort than her favourite pair of boots. And internally she withstood a familiar slipping sensation, as she yielded yet another inch of her heart. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inktober Prompt for today is 'Ripe'
> 
> The obvious is the Pears but....  
BONUS round, for using it to describe their scent LOL This is fun :)


	4. Ring

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> POV Brienne

The tunnel was dark and seemingly endless, the narrow passageway veering and weaving through the bowels of the mountain. 

_At least in here it is not as cold. _

She squeezed Jaime’s hand in the dark, both agreeing that keeping hold of each other was an advisable tactic as they navigated the blackness. The icy branches of the orchard had refused to ignite, no matter how many times she struck flint over their frozen wood. 

_It could have drawn attention to our presence anyway, at least now we can hope to remain unseen. _

Leading the way she ran her other hand along the wall as they walked, keeping her bearings as best she could. Maintaining a level head whenever Jaime insisted upon stroking her palm where they touched. 

_He is just trying to reassure you – he means naught by it. _

Still the rhythmic contact seemed to make her entire hand pulsate, awakening to the sensation of a male’s skin against her own in even this small, insignificant proportion. 

_A maid such as I should not be holding hands with a man who is not her intended…. _

“Jaime please.” She scolded, as his thumb traced spirals which both tickled and delighted. “You will make me stumble – we are holding hands for practical purposes not for you to play games.” 

Brienne had seen smallfolk children engage in such activities. Joining palms and daring each other to withstand the tracing of concentric circles without giggling. She herself, had never played, she was the heir to Tarth and not to converse with the local riff-raff. Even if her own siblings were lost to her forever, leaving her doomed to wander the halls of Evenfall unaccompanied. 

_Much like here – long, winding and empty. _

Only here she was with Jaime and as he obeyed her request, lacing his fingers back amongst her own – index beside index, ring finger to ring finger, pinkie locked protectively over hers – she was filled with gratitude. If she must face these hurdles, she would not do so alone. 

“I had a dream like this once.” Jaime confided. His voice a lost echo amongst the walls of stone. 

“Do I wish to hear it?” Brienne enquired, not keen to here tales of woe in their current predicament. 

“I suppose not.” He acquiesced. “Though you featured in it – without a stitch of clothing.” 

“What?!” She stopped dead so suddenly he ran into her from behind and they both had to catch themselves against the wall to keep from falling in the dark. 

His chuckle reverberated through the inky blackness, hot puffs of air hitting her cheek. 

“Don’t be so surprised wench…” Robbed of sight she was forced to focus on nothing but his voice. The way it sizzled against the shell of her ear. “I have seen you naked afterall.”

_Why is he saying this? _

Her heart was at a gallop, thundering through her ears so loudly she worried he could hear it too. 

_If he is trying to embarrass me, he will be sorely disappointed. He cannot see my face aflame and I will give him no such satisfaction by way of word. _

She squared her shoulders for her own benefit, physically manifesting her resolve, as she broke contact with him and strode ahead alone.

Mere seconds passed before she could hear Jaime scrambling to keep up, his muttering sounding lost and a little disconcerted. 

“If I extend to you my apologies will you rejoin with me?” His sigh could be mistaken for a gale as the tunnel amplified their every utterance. “I mislike being apart from you – my nightmare has me rattled still. There are too many ghosts in my past to face alone.”

She stopped in place and he stumbled forward blindly, his hand coming to rest upon her hip. Brienne could not help but note the vulnerability in Jaime, brought to the surface by the dark. It had the opposite effect on her – she drew comfort from being invisible. 

_In this dim, I could be anyone. A pretty maiden, a delicate flower…. A woman for him. _

The intimate location of his touch stirred up unwelcome feminine feelings and she was grateful when her eyes discerned a pinprick of light in the distance. 

“Fear not Ser. Your discontent will be short lived – our exit lies ahead.” 

Snatching his wrist, she dragged him along the final expanse. The beam of light yawning wider to become a great opening, hurtling them through to a stark bright plateau. 

The Knight and Maiden blinked several times in succession. Adjusting to the sharp contrasts of the inner and outer world. 

Brienne rubbed at her eyes to speed up the process, one hand lingering on her sword at the ready. As the spots cleared, giant shapes began to emerge. Monoliths of stone arranged in a precise pattern before them, deliberate and carefully placed. 

Cautiously she took three steps forward, checking behind the nearest column in case it concealed their foes. Weaving in and out of the ring of rock, contemplating its purpose. Something to explain its presence here.

“Mountain Clans.” Jaime offered an answer to her unasked question. Swiping at one of the stones to reveal carvings. “If you give credence to superstition, the tribespeople believe these monuments act as wards. Carrying enchantment and repelling foes.” 

She frowned at the illegible inscriptions. “How do you come by this knowledge?”

“My brother. Tyrion bribed and befriended some of the clansmen. They shared the information with him freely.” Jaime shrugged, his usual cavalier attitude returning with the light of day. “They are a primitive sort and these chunks of rock have been here since the First Men. Is it really something we should concern ourselves with?” 

Brienne threw a furtive glance back at the strange glyphs, the pillars acting as tablets, holding their timeless message and reaching imposingly to the sky. “I watched a shadow slay a King. I do not know what to believe anymore.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today's Inktober prompt is 'Ring'.  
Even though the month is over I'm still following them in order.
> 
> Prompt compliance: 'Ring Finger' & 'Rings of stone' (yes I was thinking Stonehenge-esque)  
and do I get bonus points for numerous circular references? They're kind of rings... LOL


	5. Mindless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Today's Prompt is 'Mindless'  
Jaime's POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought an update was due! This fic remains a bit of fun that I am stringing together as I go.   
Thanks to anyone who continues to play along with me. :)

The wind howled around them like feral ghosts, screeching in their ears and tearing at their clothes with icy fingers.

_It could almost blow us off this fucking mountain. _

Everywhere Jaime looked was a whirlwind of ice. Flurries whipped into frenzies by the relentless gales.

“Wench!” He raised his voice so she could hear. “It’s a good thing you are solid, a waif of a Maid would likely have been carried to Braavos by now!”

He chuckled heartily, his teeth adding to the walls of white. Snowflakes catching in his beard and landing upon his tongue.

Brienne did not look remotely amused.

“This is not a time for your japes or mindless chatter. If conditions continue to worsen we could likely freez-“

The end of her lecture was snatched away into the ranges by another forceful gust.

_I wager I got the general gist of it anyway…._

They continued onwards, stumbling blindly into the sheets of snow. They had begun with their sights set upon a cave not too far in the distance, the only viable shelter on this side of the mountain….

“It’s too convenient.” Brienne had worried at her bottom lip as she eyed the gathering masses of grey cloud. “But we cannot remain exposed out in the open when that blizzard hits. Already it is not far off…”

“How do you even know it’s headed towards us?” The lion had ambled casually along. Stopping to adjust his swordbelt, in no particular hurry. “For all we know it could disperse. That cave seems like a sure-fire way to find ourselves trapped. Either buried alive or set upon by Mountain Clans.”

“I am of the Stormlands Ser Jaime; I know how to read the weather.” She made little effort to mask her annoyance. “And if I saw another way, I would surely take it. But we are running out of options and time.”

“Always so pessimistic. Do you ever tire of your doom and gloom?”

He had cocked his head to the side, staring at her quizzically. Relishing her annoyed scowl which he seemed to enjoy the exclusive pleasure of. It stirred him in his lower regions in ways he liked but could not quite comprehend.

They had stood arguing for a significant stint until the faint winter sunlight was blotted out from the sky. Both Knight and Maid had craned their heads upward and all bickering ceased when they beheld the anger of the tempest above them.

_Dammit to Seven Hells, she was right. I will never hear the end of it._

Now they were swallowed in the beast’s maw. The fangs of frost and shards of ice turning them left and right. The sound growing increasingly louder as visibility reduced to less than a foot in front of him. Jaime snatched wildly for Brienne’s arm lest he lose her in the chaos.

They seemed to travel forwards only to be pushed backwards. The snow became deeper and often they fell into thigh high drifts. Each time they rose they looked around in a stupor, struggling to regain their bearings as they were tossed around by the blizzard like a kitten with a ball of yarn. It began to make him dizzy. The disorientation causing his whole world to spin. Knocked off his own axis, out of his brain and senses.

It felt like the system was hunting them. Conjured by a malevolent deity with the sole purpose of driving them from the plateau. Unbidden thoughts of superstition and curses floated through his befuddled brain, adding to the maelstrom of havoc.

_This mindlessness is almost unnatural – as is this white-out…._

“Brienne!” The lion’s roar was nothing compared to the ferocity of the squall. He drew her in close with a tug on her arm, practically shouting directly into her ear. “Do you recall which way we were going?”

Her sapphire blue eyes were an even more astonishing shade when contrasting against their bleak surrounds. They flitted nervously left and right before she nodded resolutely.

“That way.” She pointed with an outstretched hand.

“I trust you.” He declared and he meant it.

_If there is anyone I can rely on to keep a level head, it is her. _

Together they maintained a straight path, pulling and correcting each other when one was knocked astray. Dead ahead of them lay only a bleached blanket – not a colour or landmark to be discerned. Nothing which could reassure they were headed towards refuge and not leading themselves over a precipice.

_If I die, I can take comfort. Whether it be falling to our deaths or when they find our frozen corpses, one thing will be constant – I left this world holding the hand of Brienne of Tarth. The woman I-_

“Jaime!”

Her face scrunched with the effort of yelling above the wind, finding it easier to man-handle him instead. Roughly she turned him around and seized his golden hand, tapping it against a solid wall of snow-covered rock. “Follow it that way!” She gestured to his right. They finally had a way to ascertain their heading.

Inching along the formation, they felt rather than saw. Taking each move slowly, lest they move in haste and miss the opening. 

Finally, Jaime’s leg contacted thin air, the mouth of the cave being revealed and with relief they slipped inside.

The interior was roomy, the ceiling not quite high enough to permit them to stand and both tall warriors had to duck so as not to bump their heads. Brienne dropped down upon the stone floor in relief, crossing her long legs beneath her. From where he stood he could hear her teeth chattering with cold and she swiped snowflakes from her straw blonde hair. Rubbing her large gloved hands together and allowing the friction to melt them away.

“What?”

Jaime startled at her sudden harsh tone. “Pardon?”

“What are you staring at?” She demanded defensively.

The lion paled, he hadn’t realised how openly he had been gazing at her, entranced by just her average movements as though they were an elaborate waltz.

“I admire your snowflake melting techniques.” He replied lamely, plonking down beside her and running his hands through his own hair, mussing it up and angling his head towards her. “Maybe seeming as you are the expert you could help me out.”

She shoved him away with force. “Do it yourself.”

Jaime chuckled heartily at her, both in amusement and relief, his eyes crinkling at the corners and holding just a little too much warmth as he beheld her.

He knew by the way her own marbles widened, the acknowledgment that she had seen something reflected in his which she found both confronting and disbelieving.

_I need to break the tension…._

He hastily shook his head like a dog, proudly spraying the remaining clinging snowflakes from his hair.

It did the trick – as her unimpressed expression told him more than words ever could.

_Will I ever tire of reading the wonder that is your face? _

He found himself using the skill once more as her countenance once again shifted. This time from stern to concerned. Jaime followed her train of sight to the back of the cave. Bundles of freshly collected sticks were piled high in the corner along with a couple of crudely made weapons. Evidence of recent habitation.

_We escape being at the mercy of the weather only to find ourselves in yet another danger…._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt Compliance:  
'Mindless Chatter'  
& mindlessness caused by the white-out :)


	6. Bait

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime's POV  
Today's Inktober Prompt is: Bait
> 
> Drama is imminent! :D

They spent the night in the cave as the blizzard blew itself out, taking it in turns to sit watch in case the owners of their abode decided to return and stake their territorial rights.

When they made it to the morning unmolested, the hairs on the back of Jaime’s neck prickled.

_They are in the vicinity, I am sure of it. Yet they do not deign to make their presence known…._

It unnerved him and both warriors found that for once they agreed on the correct course of action - it was best they kept moving.

Today at least they were blessed with clear weather as they moved across a wooded section of the plateau. The skies a soft grey like the wings of a dove with the palest lemon sunlight filtering through. It was only by the grace of such a beam that Jaime noticed the frozen lake. Shooting out his arm to halt Brienne in her tracks.

“There… do you see the way the rays catch on the surface?” Jaime pointed. “It has a liquid quality.”

Squinting, her keen vision located the spot and she pursed her chapped lips. “It is a sizable body of water. It must have frozen over during the storm last night.”

“Do you think it is thick enough to walk upon?”

“For one of us perhaps – I would not chance both out weights. Although the warmth of the sun is weak, it will still be successful in thinning the surface.”

Strolling to the edge, he removed his dagger, tapping at intermittent intervals with the handle to test the thickness of the ice.

“It will hold for one of us.” He declared. “I should be the one to do it – I am the lighter of the two of us these days.” The lion smirked sardonically.

_To most women that statement would be offensive but the wench will be glad to have retained some of her muscle. Unlike myself. _

His thoughts were turning bitter. Growing irritated by his waning vigour and age.

_One handed, sallow and thinning, a shadow of my former might. _

“Should we discuss the necessity?” She seemed hesitant and he understood why. Leaving each other’s side was rarely advisable.

He huffed. “We cannot live on pears forever and we don’t know when our next opportunity to fish could be.”

“You will have to bore a hole in the ice – do you have the strength?”

Jaime glowered at her, speaking through gritted teeth. “I would appreciate it if you would cease suggesting that I am somehow incapable. I have made it just as far as you.”

“I only meant…”

“I know full well.” His tone bit - masculine pride making his temper flare. “But I tire of your constant implications that I am unequal to the tasks in front of me.”

“Ser Jaime…”

Grabbing the necessities out of his pack; a length of twine, a morsel of hardbread to use as bait and a fashioned hook of twisted wire -

_Even she was responsible for that, back when we were near the Trident, cripples are seldom useful when it comes to survival skills _

_– _he strode brusquely out onto the lake without another word.

<><><><><><> 

Sitting, waiting for the fish to bite Jaime began to feel childish for his outburst. He had managed to cut a small hole in the ice and was kneeling on his cloak to shield him from the freezing surface, the icy facet beneath partially transparent as it was slowly eaten away by the midday temperature. He kept a keen eye on its progress as he mentally raked himself for his eruption.

_She meant no harm in it – she accepts my shortcomings rather than judging me, Brienne was only trying to ensure the job got done, efficiently and quickly. She always thinks rationally, unlike me. _

He gazed at the distant shore, watching her broad figure milling amongst the trees, gathering sticks for firewood or going about some other important task. His chest felt heavy with guilt.

_I shouldn’t have snapped at her – she didn’t deserve that treatment. I can be hateful when I think I am being emasculated, that is how Cersei always made me feel. But I should know far better – Brienne is the furthest thing from my sister you could imagine. She is everything pure, moral and righteous. You could no sooner compare a whore to the Maiden…_

His thoughts hurtled to an abrupt halt and his pulse pounded behind his ears as he noticed other forms along the banks.

_They came looking for us – they saw our tracks, smelt out scent in the cave. _

A group of eight to ten men, large and rough, clad in various furs and carrying primitive weapons. Mismatched plate was strapped to their forms, armour stolen from countless knights and soldiers who had the misfortune to happen upon these savages.

_They have not seen her yet, she is blocked by the trees – but if they continue on their path they will come straight across Brienne… I cannot reach her before they do and even then…._

Jaime did not hesitate. Standing up on the ice and shouting.

“Hey!” He waved his arms frantically to catch their attention, adopting an awkward sideways gait as he began to slowly edge back towards terra firma.

_Now I am the bait and you are the fish – take it you bastards. Stay away from her. _

His peripheral vision saw Brienne snap to a state of alertness, shrinking against the frost-bitten trunk of an oak and peering around cautiously to get a look at the enemy.

He would not chance even glancing in her direction to get a proper look lest they follow his line of sight – knowing her instincts were on point and she would quickly catch on to the direness of their situation.

Blessed relief surged through him as they raised their weapons and grinned menacingly – thrilled at the prospect of battle and taking a trophy back to their tribe. With thundering feet they began to rush in his direction. An assortment of spears, rock hammers and pilfered swords glinting in the sunlight.

But a clash of steel and stone was not in his plan for he was not even armed - the weight of his sword left safely back upon dry land and the few tools he had used, abandoned by his cloak near the borehole. Jaime bent his knees slightly, in preparation to run, holding his ground for as long as he dared, luring them closer to him and further from the Maid of Tarth.

Then he heard the first crack. The terrifying resonance of splintering ice, the very ground on which they stood fracturing and giving way. The sound he had been waiting for – his cue to make a break for it.

The lion sprinted as the lake beneath him rebelled against the weight of its load, the frozen floor under his feet groaning and falling back into the black depths of subzero water. Behind him he heard the alarmed screams of clansmen being dragged under by the weight of their metal, hastily silenced to gurgles and glugs as they were devoured whole.

He was only a couple of yards from safety when the destruction caught up with him. His boot slipping as the surface crumbled beneath his heel. Jaime’s eyes sought Brienne’s as she reached for him, their gloved fingertips brushing against each other as he plummeted into the freezing liquid.

The water’s icy clutches wrapped around his ribs, the cold piercing him like barbs and wrenching the breath from his lungs. But his thoughts were only of regret, for the harsh words he had dealt when they parted.

_I’m sorry My Lady. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt Compliance:  
Bait for fishing (obvious one, lol)  
Acting as bait to lure the enemies from Brienne


	7. Freeze

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne's POV

Brienne froze in shock as Jaime sunk in front of her, his emeralds remorseful and resigned. Empty air replacing where his hand had been mere moments before, skimming over the tips and seams of her glove as it slipped from reach.

_Thank the Seven he does not wear armour. _

Her eyes scanned the water’s dark tablet, eerily still in the aftermath of its wrath, the dotted rafts of ice the only remainders of the carnage that had been.

She felt her chin wobble and the stinging prick of tears. Once before she had held her breath in such a fashion, awaiting for Galladon to emerge from the turbulent ocean – he never did. The whole scene took but seconds but to her it felt like an eternity.

Then Jaime’s leather-clad back surfaced immediately in front of her.

With a strangled cry she surged forward, leaning out over the inky liquid to grip the sodden fabric of his jerkin, heaving him towards her with all her might. He was heavier drenched in water, his body limp and convulsing as she dragged him onto the bank. She turned him onto his side, braced against her knees and he weakly coughed up water, his eyes half-mast and adrift in a world of confusion and cold.

The lion’s skin was a sickly shade of blue and he seized violently, his submersion in the gelid liquid having ravaged his body of every ounce of heat.

With despair she realised that he was not yet returned to her – only the immediate danger of drowning had passed. Now the Winter itself sought to wrest him from her life.

“I must get you warm.” Her voice was quiet and despairing, the emotion choking her. “Otherwise you will freeze to death.”

_I need to find somewhere to make camp. He needs a fire…._

Hurriedly she unfastened her cloak from her shoulders, laying it upon the ground and hauling him into its centre.

_I cannot carry him, but I can drag him. Even if it takes every ounce of my strength._

Throwing both their packs upon her back, she knew time was of the essence, felt the marker of each minute that passed bearing down upon her like the grim spectre of the Stranger himself.

The Maid of Tarth drew upon all her reserves of energy - the stamina and endurance built over a thousand practice sessions - as she tugged on the material. Praying it would hold and not tear, that the ground would promote smooth travel. A single snag upon a jagged rock and her plan would unravel as assuredly as the fabric of her cloak.

Gradually they began to move and she lugged him through the spattering of trees away from the cursed lake.

A mantra repeating through her mind as a heart-rending plea to the Gods above.

_I cannot lose him. Please, I cannot lose him…._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a short chapter this time...  
Prompt compliance:  
Fear of Freezing to Death  
& Froze in Shock (past tense but to me still counts!)


	8. Build

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne's POV continues....

For the first time in her life the deities above heard her.

Brienne had often thought that her invocations to the Seven above must be falling on deaf ears. From her earliest recollections they seemed to have forsaken her. 

Afflicting her with her repellent face, tormenting her Father by making her his sole heir; breaking betrothals with ailments and subjecting her to cruelty.

Her luck had always been abysmal. Misfortune seeking her more readily than she sought the Lady Sansa.

Colliding with the Brave Companions, encountering them again at the Whispers, stumbling across Biter….

But for one glorious time in her life, fortune smiled upon her and a single tear leaked from the corner of her eye.

_Thank you – I will accept your lifetime of cold-shoulders and adversity, excuse it with a forgiving heart – for if ever any of my entreaties meant the world to me, Jaime’s deliverance from this sentence of doom is the pinnacle. Don’t take him from me, he is all I have…._

A small campsite had appeared through the trees, rudimentary in its rustic simplicity but a miracle just the same. The vestiges of a fire smouldered in the centre, the ashes barely clinging to their last shred of life.

_This belonged to the clansmen. _She realised. _They have all perished but left our salvation lying in wait. _

The poetic justice was not lost on the Maid of Tarth – that the very men who were hunting them, had left behind the foundations of their lifeline.

Thanking the Gods once more, she got to work, building the fire back up with fresh kindling, blowing upon the cinders until they roared back to life. Reinforcing the wind break of crude furs propped upon branches which would become their shelter.

_They intended returning here – that is why they left it assembled. I shudder to think what they would have done with us…. _

Terrifying memories of the Bloody Mummer’s surfaced but she banished them with a shake of her head.

_Jaime saved me then – I will save him now._

She positioned him by the fire, stifling a sob as fitful tremors rocked his body.

“Jaime can you hear me?”

It was no use - he was slipping in and out of consciousness. His eyelids heavy and sunken. Lips quivering as he folded in upon himself, trying to stave off the coldness which surely seeped into his bones, invading his core. 

Running to her pack, she gathered all their blankets, hoping to infuse him with as much warmth as she could before the sun disappeared from the sky.

Dropping them in a pile, she blushed for one moment as braced herself for her next duty – stripping him of his damp clothes.

_You have seen him naked before, you have tended him previously, this is not the time for girlish timidity…_

Still as she went about peeling back the layers of leather and wool, she couldn’t shake the notion that this felt different. More intimate or intrusive upon his privacy. Was it because her feelings towards him had changed? Her emotions reversing from seething hate to searing love…. Is that what made relieving him of his garments suddenly awkward and exciting all at the same time.

_Stop it. _She reprimanded herself, expelling the anxious flutters that were building in her stomach.

_He needs your care, not your worship. He requires a nurse, not a shy maid._

Even so…. she made a point of studying the branches above as she unlaced his trousers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt Compliance -  
Building the fire  
Butterflies Building in her stomach  
(So I had to add the -ing to make it work...*shrugs* I'm a rebel, lol)


	9. Husky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne's POV

He had not woken for hours.

The warrior woman stoked the fire and worried anxiously at her bottom lip, pacing circles around the unconscious man who could so easily be mistaken for sleeping. She had tucked both her fur blanket and his own snugly around him up to his neck and she frowned as she watched the firelight cast both shadows and light across his unhealthy pallor.

_How quickly things change. One moment he is arguing with me and the next I could not ask for a greater blessing than to hear his voice._

Brienne crouched beside him, laying a hand upon his brow. He was still icy to the touch and she felt the tremble of his flesh in its constant ripple. The vibrations radiating up into her palm.

_He is still not warm enough. _

She knew the only thing to be done for it, still the idea set her heart to racing.

_Another obstacle which I must overcome, if I want him to live, there should be no limit to my actions, no length too great. _

Slipping off her boots and removing her cloak, she loosened the blankets from beneath his chin and shimmied in beside him.

It was an awkward wriggle, squeezing her ungainly size into the limited space, trying desperately not to disturb the furs or let in a draught. She was painfully aware of his nakedness and each time her limbs bumped against his physique; her cheeks flamed more rose than the sigil of her house.

Still she persevered, settling in beside him, as close as a demure noblewoman may dare, hoping the heat she emanated would flow into his chilled body. 

As she lay her head down beside him a myriad of sensations overwhelmed the Maid of Tarth, the pleasantness of his proximity quickly outweighing the trepidation she perceived in the act itself. His form lying beside her felt almost natural, as though they should sleep like this nightly instead of their separate bed rolls. Their breathing was rhythmic and she found herself synchronising to the rise and fall of his chest, his inhales and exhales shallow from infirmity and hers coming quickly in conjunction with her pounding pulse.

With each sharp intake, the musky scent of Jaime filled her nostrils – lake water, winter pears, boiled leather and an aroma unique to him.

Like a smell hound on the prowl or a babe seeking mother’s milk, Brienne found she could identify his fragrance, separate to all the other stronger odours. She had caught whiff of it several times before – always when they were alone, on a starlit night. When a lone breeze tousled his hair and she was lying downwind or when he had pressed close to her on the eve she discovered the orchard. To her it was like wine – a rich, heady attractant – and she knew if she allowed herself to indulge in excess, he would surely set her drunk. Now she pressed closer, gulping it by the lungful. Clinging to its undertone beneath all the other factors. She had read once that smell was the sense most closely associated to memory and it was that which stuck in her mind now.

_The scent of the man I love. _

Brienne’s blue eyes pooled and she fidgeted under the blanket, her knee grazing his thigh as she clumsily repositioned herself.

Unbidden, she found she was inching closer, his magnetism pulling her in even whilst he slumbered.

_Maybe because he sleeps…. _

_Like this there can be no risk. He will not laugh at me or push me away. He may never come to know how I managed to haul him back from the brink of death. _

_I am sure he will ask, but…. _

Dread seeped into her soul, a venomous snake writhing beneath her ribcage and making her weak. She deplored fragility within herself but when it came to the thought of losing Jaime, all her control scattered to the ether.

_Mayhaps I will not succeed and then – he will never ask. Not in that irritating, vexing, pushy way that he tries to extract information from me. He will not goad me or tease me. For he will be gone…._

Usually telling herself the worst-case scenario made her strong. Fortifying herself to face it with acceptance when it came. But the idea of Jaime’s death had the opposite effect, it destroyed her completely.

Lifting her arms, she wound them tightly around his shoulders, squeezing him to her and leaning her forehead against his. The rest of her body followed suit, fitting against him, clicking into place like a flawless design. Chest to chest, stomach to stomach, hip to hip. Her own clothes preserved her modesty and she tried valiantly to ignore the tingle which she felt at the few places where his nude skin contacted her bare flesh.

Cuddled together like this, they were matched. Similar in breadth and almost equal in height and for once she didn’t feel like a freak when she measured herself against the lion – instead infused with pride that she could shield him, keep him cosy, there was enough of her to blanket every part of him.

“Jaime…” She crooned to him, her voice a combination of soothing and pleading. “Please don’t leave me.”

A large droplet rolled clear of her lashes, cascading down her crooked nose. “I don’t know what I would do without you.”

The solitary teardrop did not remain lonesome for long; it merely forged the trail for the dozens more which streamed down her cheeks.

“Stay with me.”

Haunted by fear she framed his face with her hands, bringing drenched lips to his nose and eyelids. Tasting salt as they transferred onto his flesh with her kiss. She had never used her mouth in this way before, only for eating, speaking and the occasional ripping of ears. But as a sign of affection, the concept was completely foreign to her. As she moved to peck his forehead she briefly wondered what it would be like to have him kiss her properly. Lip to lip and open mouthed, the way she had seen between lovely ladies and their beaus.

_But he would never wish to kiss me…._

Withdrawing her arms but leaving their bodies touching she leaned her head against his own. Tracing the scar lines on his cheek with a finger and ruffling his blonde hair. Such a beauty he was, handsome and sculpted in the likeness of a God, even when knocking upon death’s door.

She did not know for how long she lay staring at him, listening to the crackling of the fire. Imagining realities that would never be....

Where she rested beside him as his wife and this was their wedding night. Or that they were camping under the stars at Evenfall, remembering the good old days when they roamed across the land seeking Lady Stark.

_But when we find her, our association will be complete and we will part ways, this time in finality – for what charms have you to keep him by your side?_

The Maid sniffled back a fresh wave of tears.

_Better that than him slipping away tonight, at least I could know that Jaime Lannister is still in the world. Alive and living. Better to have hope that one day fate may allow us to cross paths again._

Out of the blue, Jaime’s lips parted, a low forceful breath escaping his chest. Brienne propped herself up on an elbow, countless questions firing through her anxious brain.

_Can he breathe? Is this a bad sign? Do I need to turn him? _

She observed the hue of his skin and wondered if she imagined that it had pinked up slightly.

Lethargically his verdant eyes fluttered open, half-mast and drooping as he battled to stay awake. 

“Jaime how can I help?” She was eager to aid him, to have direction, to know the right thing to do. “What do you need?”

Jaime licked his dry lips, his timbre a husky whisper. “I want to die in the arms of the woman I love –“

He paused as he sucked in another deep rattling breath. “So wrap your arms around me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt compliance:  
Jaime's husky voice
> 
> Thank you to the person on Tumblr (cannot remember the name, sorry!) who posted that lying chest to chest is the best way to overcome hypothermia. ;)


	10. Enchanted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Unconscious Jaime's POV

_His entire existence was ear-shattering sound. The creaking and groaning of ice as it fractured. _

_Immobilised to stone he could only watch, powerless to intervene as the deep gouges extended around him, splintering the solid floor to a perfidious mosaic. Isolating him from his wench upon the shore._

_The treacherous plane stretched both for miles and then merely feet. Interchanging, warping, closer then farther, until his head swam with vertigo. Only one thing he knew with clarity - he couldn’t reach her._

_A final cacophony of splintering shards provided the overture for his demise. He called to Brienne above the din – declarations long concealed. Needing her to know how he truly felt, what she meant to him. But the dissonance muffled his endeavours as he plummeted to the black waters below. _

_Sinking, neverendingly down in a pit of regret and longing…._

_Then the universe flipped on its axis – reversing with stomach lurching speed. Down became up, up became down and he was rising to the surface, the muted black tones leeching away to become a sapphire blue._

_The golden lion breached the surface with a gasp and flick of golden mane. Tepid droplets teeming down his neck and bare chest. _

_He tasted salt upon his tongue as he brushed his hair from his eyes, blinking in the bright daylight cast by a springtime sun._

_A beach stretched before him, gentle waves lapping at his back as he bobbed, enchanted by the sight. _

_The island was lush and green, rolling hillsides and steep cliffs. Birdsong and rushing water soothing his troubled soul. _ _But most magnificent of all was the woman sitting upon the aureate sands. _

_She observed him with the same intensity he had come to know so well, but with an affectionate smile playing on the corners of her mouth. Her attire was different, loose fitting and cool cottons, a sleeveless design exposing her broad shoulders and muscular arms. Her boots were discarded next to her and she reclined back on her hands, deliciously long legs bent in front of her with an elegance Jaime knew she would never believe – even if he told her. A larger swell crashed near to the shore sending up sprays of foam and moisture. Its wash licking at her feet and dousing the freckled ivory skin which peeked out just above her knees._

** _How I long to trail my tongue up those lengths, capture each drip which has the audacity to coat the flesh I yearn for…._ **

_“Had enough yet?” Brienne called, tilting her head to the side. _

_Her low tones even and calm but without the edge of worry that so often tainted her speech. Instead she seemed calm, serene._

** _Happy…._ **

_That word was one Jaime thought lost to his vocabulary. The notion of happiness a concept long forgotten. But as he beheld this woman whom he revered, relaxing in this paradise, he realised the tight coils of misery which had strangled him for so long unravelled._

_“Why don’t you join me?” He called back, favouring her with a cheeky grin. “Nothing is ever completely enjoyable by yourself.”_

_“Jaime…”_

** _No, ‘Ser’. _ **

_The dropping of his title made his heart leap. The affectionate familiarity with which her plump lips formed his name. “...I am in no condition for such. My clothes will cling to my skin and it is not the season for whales.”_

_“Nonsense.” He instantly assumed she referred to her large frame. “All are weightless in water and I have seen you in far less before.”_

_She growled in feigned irritation and began to rise. Jaime noted that she was slower as she got to her feet._

** _Usually she is agile and swift, even considering her unusual proportions._ **

_But it wasn’t until she waded in towards him he realised the reason why._

_Ripples bounced around her as the rise and fall of the tide caressed her curves. Soaking the flimsy fabric which previously had danced upon her. The material became saturated and moulded to the sculpt of her physique - the arc of her hips, the supple peaks of her breasts and the rounded bulge of her pregnant stomach._

_**It’s mine.** He blinked back tears. He knew. Somehow he just knew._ **_She’s carrying my child…_**

_He opened out his arms to her as she floated towards him, enfolding her in an embrace. His wet cheek sidling against her own as he nuzzled into her hair._

_“How am I going to get back to Evenfall now?” Brienne’s tone was lecturing but kind. “I’m drenched through.”_

_“It does not matter.” He cupped her chin in his hand. “We always find a way.”_

_Jaime slid his lips against her own, a cynical piece of him waiting for the slap, the push, the rejection. But her hot mouth was silken and yielding, lips parting to welcome his tongue with a moan. Hungrily he plundered the entrance she offered, a starving man being given his ultimate feast._

** _She is my woman. We belong to each other…._ **

_He closed his eyes as she kissed his nose, his eyelids, his forehead, murmuring her devotions all the while. Long fingers combing through his drenched locks, mapping the lines of his face. The most exquisite of dreams, the kind of which he was generally denied. And he sighed in his ecstasy, revelling in everything he had ever desired and more..._

Abruptly the fantasy shifted, to a new scene of swaddled furs and flickering fire. To tear soaked blue eyes, wide and afraid.

“Jaime how can I help?” He had never seen her this vulnerable. “What do you need?”

He licked his parched lips, still hoping to taste traces of her mouth and the salt sea.

“I want to die in the arms of the woman I love –“ His voice was hoarse, wrecked emotionally as well as physically. Locked in another illusion, where his Brienne lay beside him, tantalisingly close, being his buffer against the chill and the evils in his conscience.

_If only it were real. If I have died; the Seven at least let me glimpse heaven. _

But he would enjoy it whilst it lasted. Encourage the sweetness of his fondest desires being allowed to play out in front of him. “-So wrap your arms around me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt Compliance:
> 
> Enchanted by the sight


	11. Frail

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne's POV

_He made it through the night. He made it through the night. _

Brienne’s agitation was palpable as she dotted about the camp, making busy of herself rather than face the truth.

_Gods – he made it through the night…._

She had awoken a tear stained mess. Her lumbering body draped over Jaime’s superb nakedness, an all-consuming warmth heating where they joined. Too-long arms were encircled around his shoulders, holding on for dear life as her face rested intimately close to his, the tips of their noses touching. That was how she discovered he was breathing.

_Calm down – he will never remember. Even if he did, he was delirious with cold. Hypothermia clearly was affecting his thinking. _

Her own rationale stabbed straight through her heart. The logic sparing her the embarrassment of being strewn across his nude masculine physique also robbing her of the gravity behind his statement.

_“….the woman I love. So wrap your arms around me.” _

_Stop it! _

_You cannot hold a dying man responsible for his ramblings. _

_He would no sooner love you than he would his horse. This is sad - even for you. Pathetic, desperate thinking that can only serve to injure. _

_So let it go…. forget he ever made such a remark and hope that he does not recall your indiscretion. _

The Maid of Tarth glanced guiltily at her resting comrade, retrieving for him a cup of water she had heated over the fire – unwilling to give him anything cool lest the chill seep back into his system.

_He looks so frail – I should be caring for him. Not selfishly harping on about awkwardness and misconstrued confessions._

She lowered herself beside him, gently holding the cup of liquid to his mouth.

“Here – drink this. I hope it’s not too hot.” Jaime coughed as he sipped and she winced. “I know it is unpleasant but it was the only method I could think of.”

“It’s fine.” He wheezed. “You have done well by me.”

Weakly taking the cup from her, he continued to administer himself small portions, his hand still trembling slightly but vastly improved on last night. An errant trickle of water wound its way through his beard and she had to stop herself from reflexively swiping it away.

Brienne picked up a twig, absentmindedly occupying her hands by drawing abstract sketches in the snow.

_Anything is better than meeting his eye or touching him without consent. _

_You need to remember that the permissions you gave yourself during the crisis are rescinded with the break of day. _

“I have no medical training.“ She mumbled. “I can only rely on common sense. I’m sure there is more that could have been done.”

“Accept the praise.” Jaime spluttered again and she took the cup from him, smiling thinly through her closed mouth. She made to rise but he halted her with a gentle hand upon her arm.

“Wench… I wanted to apologise.”

_Here it is – the retraction. The regret and flimsy excuses, explaining it away. _

_Septa Roelle was right – you truly are slow – for a few piteous hours you senselessly thought he might love you._

She swallowed, outwardly strong but inwardly weak. Her emotions as frail and susceptible as his constitution.

“Ser Jaime … don’t. It does not require addressing. I am content to leave it in the past. I know what it was, I will not read further into it. Now may we drop the subject?”

He had slumped back against the blankets, his eyes sunken and tired. The urge to rest dragging him back down into slumber. But his forehead wrinkled slightly in confusion – the only flaw, save a rugged scar or two - on an otherwise stunning face.

“Let me get this out.” Talking was a strain, a drain upon his energy and she couldn’t be so cruel as to interrupt him for a second time. No matter how much she wished to.

“When I was sinking in that ice, all I could feel was remorse. We parted under cross words and they came solely from my side. I’m sorry Brienne. I shouldn’t lash out verbally at you like that. You are not….” He pulled a long gulp of air into his lungs. “…. My practice dummy. I should not take out my frustrations upon you – especially not when I am angry at myself. I told you once before, I’m tired of fighting. You’re the one person in this god forsaken world I do not want to fight with. Forgive me my ill-temper and I shall try to rein it in from hereafter.”

“Oh.” Her exclamation was one of shock.

_It isn’t the fireside phrase which he wished to address? Chances are then he does not remember it at all – it is best that way. _

“My Lord…” Brienne shrugged. “We vex each other. That is what we do. We squabble amongst ourselves but then we defend each other from outsiders.”

She stood towering over him, feeling the customary well of emotion. The affection and protectiveness of their unconventional bond which she cherished above all else. She was not willing to let the events of the previous evening come between them, anymore than he would let his harsh words damage them.

_He cares for me that much at least, we are united in a common want. Our mutual affinity comes before all else and must be maintained. _

She nodded then, her limited confidence returning. Her immature midnight fantasies discarded in order to safeguard what she knew they had – a rapport which was tangible and real.

“Fear not, your words were forgiven as soon as they faded in the air. Such is our way.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt Compliance:
> 
> 'He looks so frail'


	12. Swing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime's POV

A jaw jarring bump, rattled his bones and knocked his teeth against each other, jolting him awake from his most recent bout of unconsciousness.

The lion’s stomach lurched as he opened his eyes to the blur of moving ground and a peripheral view of horse’s legs accompanied by a booted human foot. His head swam from the swinging motion of being slung over a saddle, the mounts gait steady but still nausea inducing.

“I think I’m going to be sick.” He complained to whomever had strung him up like a downed stag after the hunt. The trophy to be paraded back by the lucky marksman.

“Don’t you.” Brienne’s familiar stern speech was a relief. _Why am I not surprised? _“We cannot afford to lose what little food is in your stomach.”

“Well you should have thought of that before you unceremoniously dangled me in mid-air.”

Even as an invalid, Jaime would not lose his flair for the melodramatic. “Genteel creature aren’t you? Is this how you treat the moribund? Denying me dignity even in death?”

He heard her groan as he tried to turn to see her face. “If this is you dying, you could at least do it quietly.”

“Back to shushing me now are we?”

“Yes.” He could just make out the firm set of her jaw as she answered him. “While your first thoughts were naturally of your wounded pride, you have neglected to ask me how you came to be swinging from a horse.”

_Oh, right. _It had escaped his notice. _The trauma induced by all of this ill-treatment has dulled my wits. _

“So are you going to tell me?”

“We were happened upon by the Knights of the Vale. They were tracking the clansmen whom we encountered. Apparently that particular group have quite the nefarious reputation and had been growing ever bolder in the harsh extremes of Winter. Raiding villages and terrorising the smallfolk.” She glanced down for a moment and they were able to lock gazes. “We did them a great service by despatching their party.”

“We?” Jaime raised his eyebrows teasingly.

“Yes – for the purposes of this exercise. We.” Her nostrils flared slightly as she glowered down at him. “For our bravery we are being given a mounted escort to the Gates of the Moon. I have mentioned that we seek an audience there.”

“This does not explain why I am riding in front of you, facing in the wrong direction.”

He had to look down again, squeezing his eyes closed. All the movement was roiling his stomach.

“I had to hide your identity.” She whispered. “Until we are safe and find allies whom we can trust.”

A large soothing hand was placed upon his spine, running the length up and back. “Are you still feeling ill? I can try to sit you upright again but you kept slipping off. This was the best way I could ensure you stayed with me….” Hesitation. “…. And kept your mouth shut.”

Her touch was intoxicating, the only thing he focussed upon as they plodded along.

“Hmmmmm.” Was all the response he could manage. _When did she become tactile towards me? Is it just the circumstances? _

_Gods, she could rub me like this anytime, especially in the bedroom…._

His eyes popped open, a wicked thought distracting him from his queasiness. “Wench – who do they think we are? And what do they think our relationship is?” 

He felt her muscles tense, her hand hastily moving from her ministrations to regrip the reins.

_The answer must be good. Fabricating aliases has never been her forte. _

“You are a hedge knight…” He could hear her reluctance to inform him. “and I your sister.”

Jaime guffawed so loudly their mount spooked and Brienne had to yank its head around to keep it on track. He rotated as much as he could in place, bracing against the horse’s neck.

_I don’t care if I fall, the look on her face is not one I wish to miss._

“My sister?” He asked arching an eyebrow. 

“Yes. I admit it is not a role I relish - especially given the realities of your sibling relationships.” She scowled in a way that made him twinkle.

_Could that by any stretch of the imagination be a spark of jealousy? _

“You mean _relations_?” He smirked, lacing the word with innuendo.

“No.” Red blotches were rapidly appearing across her mangled cheek. “We..We are both blonde. It is unlikely but also believable. I am aware that your looks are far superior but we could be half siblings at the least. Fortunately the men of the Vale are honourable and asked nothing further about our parentage.”

“Of all the choices of cover stories in the world – why that one?”

“It was spur of the moment and necessary. For you to be my brother allows us to be close without insinuating anything untoward.”

“Well My Lady….” His grin was growing wider and more mischievous by the second. “…. Normally that would be the case but you know how _close _I can be with my family.”

“Stop it.” Brienne growled.

He laughed heartily. Her obvious discomfort with the conversation delighting him to no ends.

As he shuffled in place, trying to get more leverage, he noticed that his golden hand had been removed and that he was now clad in fresh leathers from his pack.

“How did I get redressed?”

The wench remained impassive, staring straight ahead, between their mount’s ears. Attention fixed unwaveringly upon the road.

“Come to think of it – how did I get _undressed?” _

“You know full well the answer to that. It was just you and I. Now we need not speak on it.”

He winked conspiratorially before adding. “Did you like what you saw?”

“I’ve seen it before.”

“So you looked?”

“No! I averted my gaze.”

“So you just – what? Felt your way with your hands?”

“Yes-no!” She worked her mandible in distress. “Stop being filthy! I did what needed to be done – as I have in previous times of need.”

“I can’t help being filthy My Lady, I have not had a bath – for I don’t think that brief dunk in the ice lake counts. Unless you bathed me as well…. Did you bathe me?”

With a forceful whack, she whipped him back around and Jaime found himself facing the ground again.

_Touchy wench, she is all fired up – maybe she did enjoy the view. _

Faint dreamlike memories drifted to him through cerebral mist, of bodies entwined and warm embraces.

_Was it real? Could it have been? It was so lovely I thought it must be illusion…. Only one way to find out. _

Twisting around until he could just see her neck and a sliver of cheek he stated jovially.

“You know I thought to stave off hypothermia it was advisable that **both** people are naked when they huddle – you know skin to skin contact – rather than just the ….”

She shoved him again, this time pinning him in place. The iron grip of her fist, knotting in his hair.

But not before he saw her neck ignite on fire, the deepest scarlet staining travelling from her cheeks to chest.

_Maybe it was not just fantasy… _He smiled to the snow and passing pebbles. _I pray one day I come to know. . ._

“Stay down.” Brienne’s teeth were gritted, emphasis placed on every syllable. Her tone brooking no argument as his shoulders shook with mirth. “I hope the blood rushes to your head.”

Unfortunately for Jaime – it did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt Compliance:
> 
> Swinging motion


	13. Pattern

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime's POV

When next he awakened, he was nestled beneath rich blankets. Elaborate lines of bronze and purple adorning the covers, the patterns interlocking to form a lattice structure.

The wallpaper was much the same but with alternating crescent moons and ancient runes, the odd style of writing reminiscent to those which they encountered on the rock formation.

_A unique way to represent a sigil I will grant you…_

He rolled to his side, smiling to see the wench slumped in a chair next to the bed. She too had drifted to sleep, yielding to her need for slumber whilst valiantly sitting guard. With her eyes shuttered, he could gaze at her freely, admiring her youth and innocence. Never more present than when she slept. Her face relaxed, losing its austerity, flaxen hair drooping haphazardously across one eye. Her mouth slightly parted with heavy breathing and he mentally made a map of her full lips. Noting the occasions when he should like to kiss them and promising himself one day he would. It called to mind their conversation before he had lost consciousness again and Jaime attempted to suppress a chuckle.

Even the muffled sound however was enough to rouse the warrior woman, her reflexes attuned to changes in her environment. She jumped in her seat, looking about wildly which only increased his amusement.

“You should have joined me.” His voice was smouldering as he teased, relishing the role of tempter. “This bed has plenty of room for two.”

“We are siblings – remember? Most families do not share your penchant for physical closeness.”

“Still with the pretence? It will grow tiresome. I have become adjusted to our ease and familiarity. Other people will be a nuisance – I shall have to recall my manner’s again.”

She snorted incredulously and he continued to be entertained by the way she flouted ladylike behaviour.

“You will have to be polite – Lord Royce was kind in giving us these lodgings. It is no small gesture considering his castle is currently host to the entire household of the Eyrie. They have journeyed down the mountain to wait out the Winter.” She ducked her head slightly. “My room is next door, they had their Maester look in on you and I said I wished to remain at your side. I confess I have been somewhat afraid they would recognise you. I am a stranger to them – but your likeness is well known, with your striking features, there are few who could mistake it.”

“My Lady – is that nearly a compliment?”

“Simply an observation.”

“Well I shall accept it as one nonetheless.”

Brienne huffed in annoyance. “Just what your ego needs – more fuel.”

It was passing odd the way her quick refute pinched. The way his spirits had soared by the simple idea that she might have been paying him a compliment. Usually he enjoyed their banter but today it seemed a strain.

_When will this pattern cease? When will there come a day when I can tell her how she bewitches me and she’ll accept it as truth? _

_Where she feels at ease enough to let slip a private thought in one breath, without retracting it or passing it off as a joke in the next..._

_Will there ever be a time when she will open up to me, confess to me her deepest desires and desperate wants?_

_I love our games – but I also love her. And the longer we play, the harder it is to make her believe…_

A gentle knock drew their focus and Brienne rose from the chair to fetch the door. A chamber maid scurried in, armed with additional blankets, lye soap and other necessities.

As she fussed Jaime peered out the entrance, sitting up straight in bed. He gestured to Brienne with his chin and she followed his line of sight.

A delicate dark-haired girl stood in the hall, amiably chatting with a boisterous buxom brunette.

Brienne walked to his bedside; her voice hushed in his ear. “That’s Myranda Royce, the daughter of our host.”

“Who is beside her?” He enquired.

“I fear I do not know – We have not long arrived and I have only surveyed the ladies here in passing, seeking a glimpse of red hair.”

Jaime turned on a supernova bright smile and aimed it directly at the help.

“Thank you sincerely for bringing us the additional supplies. I hope we are not increasing your workload too drastically; I would hate to think I have been a bother.”

_Turns out I haven’t forgotten my charms._

“It is no trouble Ser, in fact it is a pleasure.”

The young woman grew flustered at his attention and his peripheral vision saw Brienne roll her blue orbs.

“Well I’m grateful – I have not had such kind treatment in an age.” _That was for the Wench’s benefit. Throwing me over her horse indeed. _

“You’re too kind Ser.”

His schmoozing was working. The maid was practically skipping around the chamber, arranging things to perfection. “Can I be of any further assistance Ser?”

“May I ask you something – if it wouldn’t be too much trouble.”

“Not at all.”

He beckoned her closer. “I’m afraid I am not familiar with all the members of the household. I would hate to appear rude when I extend to them my gratitude. Now… Lord Royce I know but who, pray tell are those ladies in the hallway. By the way they are dressed they are of some import.”

“That’s Myranda Royce Ser, Lord Royce’s daughter.”

“Ahh..and her companion?”

“Alayne Stone. Lord Baelish’s natural daughter….” She sidled up closer to him. _A little too close given I’m abed…_

“Are you sure you won’t be needing anything further Ser?” Batting her eyelashes exaggeratedly she placed her hand upon his arm. “I am very happy to serve.”

“He requires rest.” Brienne’s curt tone made the young attendant shrink back. “We are both thankful for your assistance - now that will be all.”

Making full use of her imposing height, the noblewoman strode to the open door, ushering the servant dismissively out.

_Someone was indeed raised to be the Lady of Evenfall – there’s a delicious little morsel I haven’t had the pleasure of before. _

It affected the Lannister side of him, the pompous lion who enjoyed Lording it over his lessers. _She would make a grand lioness…._

There even seemed to be an emphasis in the way she turned the lock in the wake of the maid’s receding form.

“Harsh Wench but very commanding. I’m sufficiently impressed My Lady.”

“The last thing we need is a serving woman throwing herself at you.” She returned to the seat, flinging herself down defeatedly. “Though I will admit your ploy worked. I did not know Lord Baelish had a daughter he acknowledged - however given his line of business it is not at all surprising.”

“He doesn’t.” Jaime corrected. “Not in all the years he served in the Red Keep has he ever mentioned an Alayne Stone nor has she been present.” He was triumphant in his delivery, pleased he was the one that got to inform her. “That Brienne of Tarth – is Sansa Stark.”

Her jaw gaped. “But – her hair..?”

“They have dyed it.” He shrugged. “A thin disguise but better than my own right now, so I am not in a position to judge.”

“You are sure?” She was positively glowing at the prospect of fulfilling their quest. The daughter of Lady Catelyn, alive, well and so close at hand.

He nodded in respect to their shared oath. “I am certain.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt Compliance:
> 
> Pattern of the bedspread  
Pattern of behaviour


	14. Snow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne's POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi folks! As we near the halfway point I just wanted to say a big thank you to everyone who has been reading and commenting. This fic is unique for me - as I'm letting my story be driven by a prearranged list of prompts.  
I never imagined it would become as dramatic as it has and I love that it has taken on a life force of its own!  
The prompts have taken me in all directions: from comedy, to fluff and angst as I weave and attempt to comply with some semblance of book canon. Who knows what tomorrow may bring? But I am thrilled to have people along for the ride with me. :) Onwards we forge!

The wind was blustering, channelled by the various alleys and ravines of the mountainous surrounds. Sometimes the great stone giants blocked its vicious assault, in other instances it amplified, making it scream as it forced its way through the narrowed crannies.

Brienne stood huddled against a frost covered archway, pulling her hood across her face to shield it from the icy blasts. She could envisage the splendour of this garden in the Summer, with its various statuettes and flowery shrubs, a fountain bubbling at its centre. Now the entire area was a tribute to winter’s wrath, the snow disguising the sculptures and fusing the water in place until it resembled a chunk of solid marble.

It was here she waited for Sansa Stark or rather – Alayne Stone.

She had lingered in this alcove for near on an hour, determined not to move lest she miss her opportunity. The Maid of Tarth had a note smuggled to the Lady, requesting an audience away from prying ears and eyes – the gelid conditions a natural deterrent against anyone who would seek to eavesdrop.

She blew on her stiffened gloves, stomping her frozen feet, willing the blood to circulate.

_I have left Jaime for too long – Gods, please may he not say something to incite a riot or give us away._

Above the gales, she heard the unmistakable crunching of boots. A grey fur lined cloak appearing through the entrance near to where she sheltered.

“My Lady.” Brienne stepped forward, not wishing to startle the girl by remaining hidden. “Thank you for coming.”

“Your letter was most intriguing.” The girl’s voice was sweet, a chirp of birdsong in a blossom tree, a world away from this harsh climate. “You spoke of being a friend… but we have never met before.”

“We have not.” She agreed, indicating with her arm that they should shelter against the pillars of stone. Where the rock columns would break the gusts and allow them to better hear each other.

It was only now Brienne got a complete picture of the young woman’s face.

_Jaime was right – it is dye. _

Her unnaturally dark hair was at contrast to her other pale features. Snow white skin and high cheekbones framing rich blue marbles.

_Her eyes are Lady Catelyn’s._

“You look at me rather intently.” The girl remarked, wariness evident in her tone.

“Forgive me My Lady, but I could not help but observe how much your eyes are like your Mother’s.”

“Are they? I may have heard such before.” A reserved sadness consumed her, quietly contemplative as the loss was drawn to the forefront of her mind. “You knew my Mother?”

“I was her sworn sword; I pledged my service to her after she aided me in a time of peril. I accompanied her from the Reach to Riverrun and would have gladly stayed by her side… but she sent me on a quest.”

The girl masquerading as Alayne Stone folded her hands in front of her. “You speak as though my mother was a noblewoman. Perhaps you are mistaken…”

“She was the most noble of women – Lady Sansa.”

The slight widening of the girl’s eyes was the only acknowledgment of her real name. Brienne decided it was best if she continued.

“I know this must seem strange and that you have probably been advised to shield your identity from those who mean you harm. I know better than most that in this troubling age it is difficult to determine friend from foe. False allies speak just as prettily as true friends. But I assure you – on my life and on my sword – that I, Lady Brienne of Tarth and the Knight whom I travel with – swore an oath by your Lady Mother to see you safe and protected. By the light of the Seven we have journeyed far to see it through, honouring her in death as we avowed to her whilst living and I am relieved more than words can say to see you hale and healthy.”

“I thank you then.” A small smile graced her dainty features. “With whom do you travel Lady Brienne?”

The Warrior Woman winced. “If I speak his name aloud when we are so early in our acquaintance, I fear you may dismiss my claims and think us enemy. Though we are the farthest thing from it.”

Unsheathing her sword, she lay it at Lady Sansa’s feet. The red and black ripples seeming alive against the pristine blank canvas. “This blade is named Oathkeeper. It was gifted to me by my companion, it is a physical representation of our dedication to your cause.” She swallowed as she added the next part. “It was forged from Ice – your Father’s Greatsword. The ancestral blade of your house was melted down by his enemies. But when it fell into my comrade’s hand; he ensured its use would be honourable, even if its origins were not.”

“Speak his name then. I will find out sooner or later.”

“I travel with Ser Jaime Lannister.”

She pursed her lips. The only sign of disgust evident at the family name. Her voice took on a far away quality as she stared out at the blanched wilderness.

“You must have journeyed for a considerable time…. much has changed in Westeros – details of which I assume have not reached your ears.”

Brienne shook her head, even though she was agreeing.

“My Lady, we have had no contact with the greater kingdoms and are ignorant of the state of the realm. It has only been Ser Jaime and I alone for months now.”

“Lord Robert Arryn passed away some two turns of the moon ago. He caught chill and had not the constitution to shake the illness. Harrold Hardyng now rules the Vale and is styled as Arryn.”

Lady Stark turned towards her, angling her chin. Every essence the trueborn daughter of a Northern Lord and far removed from the bastard she pretended to be.

“As I have said – a great deal has altered. The old allegiances and grievances crumble into dust. It pleases me that your vows meant so much but in this flux and upheaval I would not hold you to your promises.”

She began to walk away but was halted by Brienne's voice. 

"You may not wish to enforce our pledge Lady Sansa - but we do so of our own volition. Ser Jaime and I intend to see our oaths fulfilled. I ask that you do not dismiss our loyalty. Surely an opportunity will arise when you would have use for us." 

The raven haired girl pivoted back towards her wearing an expression laden with burden. As though she had a secret which weighed upon her sweet-tempered soul. 

“Lord Harrold is holding court on the morrow – matters of urgency needs must be addressed. Lady Stark will be making an appearance and I invite you Lady Tarth to attend – also as yourself. Bring Ser Jaime – there is much you both need to learn.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt Compliance:
> 
> Snow covered yard  
Snow white skin


	15. Dragon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne's POV

“That was it?” Jaime continued to be puzzled by his lack of infamy, expecting his presence to cause a scandal and to be dragged away to the dungeons.

She had detailed her exchange with Lady Sansa several times over between yesterday and now – yet somehow he seemed reluctant to accept it.

His mouth pressed into a firm line as they made their way towards the Great Hall, sidestepping the myriad of other nobles who sought to follow the same route. They had both changed into the finest clothes they possessed, having been given the understanding that this was an official occasion. She had received a note in the morning and was quite taken aback to discover it had been signed in Lady Sansa’s birth name. Within its contents, the Warrior Maid had been assured that their true identities had been discussed with Lord Harrold and that both their attendance was expected.

Brienne had her hair trimmed and brushed back; not that she thought it did much to improve her appearance.

Jaime’s resplendent aura had returned in fine form, with food and a full belly his complexion brightened along with his disposition and now he looked quite the golden lion again. 

_Though I must remember not to stare…._

“Are you really so disappointed to not be tried and executed?” The Lady of Tarth asked huffily, she did not share his state of discombobulation. All she knew was relief.

“I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop and so should you – how can we be certain we are not walking into a trap?”

“Lady Sansa assured me of our safety under Guest Right. Those laws are sacred and she will see them upheld.”

“That’s what her Mother thought about the Freys.” He grumbled.

“Then just be glad that the Stark’s place value in their word. I have faith in her – and so should you. Do not do her an injustice.”

Jaime pouted exaggeratedly as he cut off her path. “One day you have known her and already you take her part. How many years have you kept **_my_** company?”

“Only a few but it feels like centuries.” Brienne shouldered past him and entered through the double doors.

As she stopped to scan the crowd for an empty position, she could sense Jaime at her back. The heated tingling sensation somewhat akin to gooseflesh but also comforting and sublime.

“There.” She pointed without turning around. Speaking to him, knowing he was there. “Come – let’s get our spots.”

As she wove her way amongst the crowd, snippets of the previous afternoon's conversation with Lady Sansa manifested in her mind, the words spoken echoing and resonate, niggling at her conscience. She in fact had **not **told Jaime their discussion in its entirety.

“Lady Brienne…” They had stopped not far from re-entering the castle. “… I wish for transparent honesty from you, to substantiate your claims that you can be trusted.”

“Of course My Lady.”

“Then in the spirit of this I wish to ask you a question and I would request that you answer truthfully regardless of your discomfort, so I may get an accurate assessment of your loyalties.”

“I have nothing to hide.”

“Good. Are you and Ser Jaime lovers?”

The point-blank enquiry had thrown her off guard. Never had she imagined that anyone would think to couple them together in such a way. She a hideous excuse for a woman and he the epitome of masculine sensuality. 

“L-l-lady Sansa, I….” Her cheeks burnt even in the cold.

“You said you have travelled alone for a significant stretch of time. Is it not fair to enquire whether you sought comfort in each other’s embrace? You are a man and woman afterall.”

A flash of her holding Jaime tightly whilst she nursed him back from the brink of death made her blush turn scarlet.

_The colour of whores…._

“I have never.” Brienne finally blurted out. “I am a Maid.”

She squeezed her eyes shut tight, the young woman’s pretty face making it harder for her to admit to her own lack of appeal.

_I am repulsive, how could she think he would want me? _

“Ser Jaime has been naught but a gentleman to me. He has even spared me from worse fates. I am – not the sort of woman a man desires My Lady.”

“It was not for your virtue that I was questioning…. I have socialised often with the ladies here and have learnt not to judge. I was more gauging your level of closeness. Whether the Lord of Lannister owes his allegiance to you or the other way around.”

“Neither My Lady.” She answered plainly. “We shared the same interest and sought a common goal. He and I both agreed upon our mission to see you to safety. It was through our travels that we….”

Brienne struggled to find a word to describe them.

“…. bonded.”

She smiled a little at that, pleased with her decision. “We are bonded.”

“And from your perspective is that bond solid? Are you likely to break your ties should you disagree upon the morrow – or does it go deeper than that? I understand you cannot answer for him, but for yourself I would ask. Are you capable of being severed?”

Brienne wanted to cover her vulnerability but the tears which stung her eyes at the thought of their parting betrayed her.

With a staunch nod she replied. “We are inseverable.”

“Then I will ensure you stay together.” Sansa squeezed the larger woman’s hand and lowered her voice conspiratorially, for the first time showing her age, resembling every bit the young girl instead of acting the grown-up. “I have seen many horrors but I am still a romantic at heart. You must have quite the story to tell. I hope to hear it sometime.”

_It was in these words from her that I gained my belief and confidence - but I cannot possibly tell Ser Jaime that. _

They settled in a space between some lesser Lord’s of the Vale, Jaime bumping into her shoulder as they accepted their vantage point. She heard some of the Knights behind them sigh and complain as her height obscured their view. Jaime silenced them with a uniquely Lannister scowl. The hall was standing room only – the Gates of the Moon never having been equipped to hold such stately affairs.

A pleasant of face young man stood by the high seat.

_That must be Harry the Heir – now Lord of the Eyrie. _

Before their arrival, Jaime had quickly briefed her with his knowledge of the Houses and its seats, chuckling as he recalled the ludicrousness of being named Warden of the East after the passing of Lord Jon Arryn. The title was quickly rescinded by his father, but the facts acquired remained.

_Now at least his wisdom can be put to good use. _

To his right stood a middle aged, black-haired man, presumably Littlefinger by his Mockingjay pin and to his left Lady Sansa looked every inch dignified and regal.

“My Lords and Ladies.” Harry raised both arms and the room fell silent.

“I hold court today to address the state of the Seven Kingdoms. I am not ignorant of the rumours which circulate – held aloft high in our Mountainous abode it is often difficult to determine fact from fiction. Especially when ofttimes the facts sound almost too fantastical to be considered legitimate. Today, I hope to lay your musings to rest. But know that from this meeting forward – many lives will be changed.”

An anxious murmur resounded through the crowd and Brienne found herself holding her breath.

_What is coming?_

“The sovereignty of our continent has changed. The current Baratheon monarchy has been overthrown. All Great Houses were summoned to the capital in the face of this revolution to bend the knee and swear fealty – and I have not long returned from doing just that.”

The gasps of shock were audible. Brienne’s own mind and heart raced.

_Overthrown – what does this mean? Who holds King’s Landing and how? _

Then in an abrupt shift in focus, her thoughts were only of the man beside her. _Jaime...his family...._

“But My Lord –“ Lord Yohn Royce was not backward in speaking his mind. “-Why would you surrender our chance at independence so readily? The North has broken with the Crown, so to has Dragonstone. We had an opportunity for self-governance. Why should we dismiss it so readily for a newly made leader sitting upon an Iron Chair?”

Grouses of assent rumbled throughout the audience, backing up Lord Royce's assertions.

The Maid of Tarth observed Lady Sansa place a steadying hand upon Lord Harrold’s arm. They exchanged furtive glances before he answered the Bronze Yohn’s charge.

“For the same reason our predecessors did. For this ruler is not made of usurper’s blood, nor are her claims tenuous. Our new Queen brings with her a history of Fire and Blood. It is in this vein she staked her claim upon our shores like her forefather Aegon the Conqueror centuries before. Queen Daenerys Targaryen swept the Crownlands with an army at her back – and her trio of Dragons controlling the skies.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt Compliance:
> 
> Trio of Dragons (kinda obvious huh? It's like some of these prompts were tailor made for ASoIaF!)


	16. Ash

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime's POV  
Warning - incoming drama

The blood rushed behind Jaime’s ears so loudly he could barely breathe nor think. The continuing speech from the Lord next to the high seat becoming a garbled drone, buzzing in his ears without taking solid form.

_Overthrown – the Baratheon monarchy is deposed? _

In the distance he registered one of the Lord’s challenging the decision of the newly made Warden of the East but still the golden lion could not focus.

_Stannis?_ _ Surely not – we threw his forces back. Who would come to stake their claim? How did they manage it? _

_The Red Keep is well guarded… _

His ears finally pricked as he heard one word clearly.

** _Targaryen_ ** _ – no, no, No, NO! _

_They are mad. The Gods toss a coin. The balance precarious at best. Power hungry, they stop at nothing. They know only how to destroy…. _

Then a second word – far more terrifying than the first.

** _Dragons._ **

Jaime’s knees buckled and he felt the Wench’s study arm around his waist. His mind transported to a room with a raving wild-eyed lunatic who vaguely resembled a King. Rambling on and on about how he was a Dragon reborn. Instead of blood beneath their flesh was flame. They could not be killed. If their life was to end, they would rise again from the ashes….

_To some degree he was right – for in the ruins of their monarchy she did survive. And now she rises…._

“How was it done My Lord?” The yellow cross upon his armour marked the speaker as Symond Templeton. “How did our capital fall so swiftly?”

“Queen Daenerys positioned her Essosi army surrounding the walls and demanded the city’s surrender. When this was not achieved, she flew her Black dragon over the gates and issued her final warning. How it was received – we shall never know – for the Red Keep fell not long after. The castle and all inside reduced to rubble and ashes by her Dragon’s fiery breath. She ended the lineage in one fell swoop. The destruction of the Keep instilled enough fear that all remaining loyalists quickly cast aside arms and bent the knee.”

The room was deathly quiet as this information sunk in. Jaime felt himself begin to quiver.

_My family…._

“How do we know she was successful?” Lord Hunter’s voice broke the hush. “There is margin for error in an attack as impulsive as this.”

“Queen Daenerys had the Keep thoroughly searched. The bodies of the King, Kingsguard and Queen Regent were all discovered and positively identified – the process was made very public. The Dragon Queen wished for there to be no unfounded rumours of survival nor anyone left who could potentially challenge her reign.”

His eyes swam with tears, fogging his vision as his heart constricted.

_Men do not cry – Cersei would have no tolerance for such weakness. But she is gone now… as is Tommen… _

He tried courageously to fight the image of his son’s fear-stricken face as he drew his last lungful of air. In his mouth he could taste the ash, smell the burn, hear the screams. They sounded so similar to Rickard Stark as he was roasted in his armour. To Hands of the King being burnt alive. The scent of baking flesh and scorched hair.

Then a ray of hope _…. _

“Myrcella.” He rasped, turning his distraught gaze to the woman beside him. Only now he realised that Brienne had been watching his reactions rather than the dais. Her arm sturdier than a branch on the tree of life as she anchored him in place.

“My Lord!” The Lady of Tarth did not miss a beat as she interrupted the proceedings. “What word of Princess Myrcella? Surely she remains in hiding – an heir to the throne in her own right.”

Lord Harry shook his head sadly and Jaime noticed a single tear streak down Sansa’s face. She quickly swept it away but he saw it nonetheless and his hopes which had shot higher than the heaven’s plummeted again in devastating cruelty.

_She weeps - they played together as girls…_

“The Princess was on the road, making the return journey to King’s Landing with her Dornish retinue. I’m afraid when news reached them of the shift in power, Princess Myrcella was slain as a demonstration of loyalty. Queen Daenerys pardoned their actions – allowing them in restitution for past crimes. It was said that Elia, Aegon and Rhaenys were not spared, so the Dornish were within their rights to return the favour to the Lannisters.”

Now the salt drops fell, manly or not he could no longer hold them in. His shoulders shaking as his body was wracked with shuddering breaths. He hung his head, trying to conceal the shame of his frailty as a deluge of tears rained down his cheeks. Grief whipped up a storm in his soul, a tempest of sorrow and fury. A maelstrom of bereavement and anguish.

The room disappeared. The Lords and witnesses fading into insignificance. The only things that mattered were the images of his family’s final moments tormenting his battered soul and the shadow of the wench as she shielded him from view with her massive form. Supportive hands clutching his arms and gently guiding him from the hall. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt Compliance:
> 
> Rubbles and ashes  
Taste the ash  
Rise again from the ashes


	17. Overgrown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne's POV

The Lady of Tarth shouldered her way into the dimly lit room, balanced upon her arms was a silver tray of grooming supplies – razor, bowl of water, lye soap, looking glass and soft cloth. Today she was on a mission, one which she could not fail.

Over the course of the last few weeks she had permitted Jaime his reclusive solitude. Allowing him time to wallow in his desolation and grief.

Although it damn near killed her twice daily.

She could hardly bear opening his door and finding him huddled in the corner or sitting hunched over on the bed. Being forced to lecture him when she discovered his dinner went untouched, the process feeling completely unnatural when it was met only with surrender. Despondent nods as he tolerated her rebuke, fixing her with his disconsolate stare, haunted eyes rimmed raw and red. The sight of them would torment her for hours thereafter.

The most alarming anomaly was his lack of speaking. She was used to Jaime talking her ear off, annoying her until she could take no more of his idle chatter. But he exchanged not a word to her when she entered with his meals. Only appraising her with sullen, sunken pools of moss before dropping his head once more.

Left to her own devices Brienne had become better acquainted with Lady Sansa. The young woman inviting her daily to tea. Initially shy, the two Ladies had fallen into a routine and after a sennight or so their conversation flowed more organically. They had little in common – apart from both being born female and into nobility – but Sansa’s politeness and genteel courtesy had a way of endearing her to the warrior woman. Eventually the usually taciturn Maid of Tarth has been persuaded to offer tidbits of her own. Basic retellings of events from her own journey, stated factually without furnish or pizazz. She spoke frequently of Jaime, hoping to better Lady Stark’s opinion of him and it was then that an unexpected thing happened – these tales became Sansa’s favourite.

The epitome of the dreamy young girl she lapped up each morsel of chivalry as eager as a cat with a bowl of cream, insisting upon romanticising each of Ser Jaime’s actions and filling Brienne with false hopes which could be naught but danger.

“Has he spoken to you Lady Brienne?” The pretty red-head had asked her earlier today. The black ink which disguised her auburn locks, having completely washed away along with her pretence of being Alayne. She sipped her tea daintily, sincere concern writ across her ivory forehead.

“Not as yet My Lady. He is overcome by grief. It pains me to see him so traumatised but it is to be expected. He lost everyone he cares for.”

“Not everyone.” The Stark girl smirked.

“Please – don’t. I beg of you. He mourns all those who held dominion in his heart and I do not chide myself by thinking otherwise. It is pointless - and seeing him in this level of pain already has my chest in knots.”

Placing down her fine porcelain cup, Sansa leant forward in her chair and lowered her voice. “They think he is dead you know.”

Brienne’s jaw went slack. “Who?”

“The Queen and her advisers. Harry told me. Some of the Kingsguard were so charred they could not be identified. It is presumed Ser Jaime was with his charge. This revelation has greater ramifications which need to be addressed in fine detail with him post haste…”

“Tell me.” Brienne commanded not unkindly. “I will inform Ser Jaime of all he needs to know – in his current state he can receive no visitors and any more ill-tidings which he must endure will only be relayed to him via my tongue.” She frowned. “Seven knows there are piteous few who care for him….”

Sansa’s lips quirked upwards. “Then he is lucky to have you.” 

Brienne blinked rapidly, adjusting to the chamber’s gloom.

Placing the tray upon the dresser she huffed and stormed over to the window, whipping back the drapes and letting illumination flow in.

Jaime shied backwards from his position in the corner, shielding his eyes with his arm.

_Cruel to be kind._

“They think you are dead.” She towered over him, looking down. Her silhouette casting a long shadow in the sudden burst of light. Her arms folded across her chest as she nudged his leg with her boot, determined not to let her pity weaken her attempts. “And from the way you’ve been acting you may as well be.”

She drew on the harshness within, the anger she felt. A prickly, thorny plant which had seeded in her bosom. Envy was its name and green were its monstrous leaves. The tiny needles jabbing at her as it became overgrown, flourishing with each day he mourned his sister’s passing.

The rustling of its foliage hissing at her – _he loved her. He does not want to dwell in world without her. Nothing can entice him from this melancholy, it consumes him as she did. He will not thrive without her. _

_Not for life itself. Not for revenge. Not for YOU._

“Who think it?” His voice was enervated from disuse, as he eyed her dolefully.

“The Dragon Queen and her advisers. They believe you were amongst the Kingsguard who perished.”

“Then she surrounds herself with dolts.” He struggled to rise on unsteady legs. “Count the hands – they all would have two – I only have one.”

“I know. I queried it. It is believed your brother may have had something to do with that fact being glossed over, he is her Hand of the….”

“I have no brother.” Jaime snarled. “If he serves that demon of fire and slaughter…” His tone began to choke. “If he stood by and let her…”

He caught himself upon the bed as his knees went out from under him, tears drenching his cheeks anew.

Brienne stepped forward, timidly placing her hand against his spine.

“You are within your rights to feel that way.”

He was breaking her, she could feel her steel walls bending like a poorly made suit of armour, reshaping itself to be more merciful, womanly and comforting.

“But I must tell you these things so that you are no longer in the dark.” A thin smile flitted across her sympathetic features. “Both literally and metaphorically.”

He turned himself around, plopping down onto the covers in a heap, slouched so much he could barely be considered upright. “What else?”

“Well you are dead. Therefore you have no land, finances or Lordly titles. You earned your Knighthood so you are permitted to retain the honourific of Ser and Lady Sansa has arranged for you to be harboured here for the Winter.”

“Then?” The lion finally looked at her, his handsome face a portrait of sadness. Of aching greater than the loss of his hand or the shame of being slandered as the Kingslayer. She lifted her hand to stroke through his knotted hair, letting it travel from the matts of his mane to his overgrown beard, toying with the dull lifeless blonde in place of golden.

“Whoever knows what tomorrow will bring?” She shrugged apologetically, her empathy taking over all foolish notions of tough love. “Take each day as it comes. We certainly didn’t foresee this.”

When he leant his forehead against her stomach she allowed it, controlling her alarm with deep stabilizing breaths. Continuing to run her hands across the crown of his head, detangling his lengths as she went with deft fingers.

Jaime sighed deeply, making no efforts to move from his position.

“Have you anything else to tell me?” The vibrations from his speech could be felt through the knit of her woollen tunic, penetrating the cotton shift beneath with ease, making her skin tingle.

“Lady Sansa is betrothed.” She composed herself enough to speak. Diverting her own attention from his proximity. “Her wedding to Lord Harrold is not far off. She says they did not get along upon first meeting but that their affection has grown.” Brienne smiled slightly; glad he could not see.

_Mayhaps that is why she entertains those frivolous fancies about us…_

“If she is happy with her mate, that is all anyone can ask for.” His breathy voice was doing that thing to her flesh again, the stronger his octaves grew the more it extended down her abdomen.

She stepped away startled.

_I have a mission, I have an aim. But I have missed him…._

“I brought you a razor… I figured from the sight which greets me daily you could use a tidy up.” 

“I thank you but…” He raised his stump. “Without permanent attendants I am useless to myself. And it seems I must grow accustomed to being unsightly – stripped of my Lordly privileges and all.”

“Stop complaining.”

The Maid of Tarth collected the tray, carrying it over with the rattle of instruments and trying not to slosh the water as she placed it on the bedspread.

“I will indulge your grief but I abhor self-pity. You are made of tougher mettle than that – if other men are Iron, you are Valyrian Steel. Deadly, impetuous and with a sharp edge.” Pulling over a chair, she sat directly in front of him, knees apart to allow her to draw nearer. “Now hold still – I have not done this before and it would be poor form to slit your throat.”

It was an awkward and intimate undertaking, knees brushed against thighs as she angled closer, the blade slowly grazing away the lustreless curls.

Jaime fell quiet again, thoughtful, contemplative.

When she was halfway through he spoke again, the sudden movement of his chin causing her to nick him and she pulled back with a start. He didn’t even notice, the moisture regathering in his eyes.

“Tommen was a kind boy. So innocent and unspoilt. Seemingly oblivious to the call of the Throne and its prestige. He never wanted power – he just wanted kittens and to be loved. Soft words, the odd piece of praise. He tried so hard….” His breath hitched and she hovered with the blade in mid-air, letting him talk it out.

“Then Myrcella – she was sweetness and light. Gentle of spirit, completely un-Lannister. Sometimes she would look at me, call me uncle in this way like she knew…. I know it was impossible that she did but I would wonder. I just wanted to hold her, tell her the truth. Be closer to her.”

His bottom lip trembled; and Brienne felt her own eyes wash with tears.

“Cersei was a hard Mother. Often unnecessarily severe in her reprimands. She was quite ruthless in all things.” He bit his lips and shook his head. “I know she would not have surrendered. Cersei had said before that she would feed her children poison rather than yield themselves to an enemy. She made that decision for herself, a credo of clinging to power which she lived by. But how I wish she hadn’t sealed their fate along with hers.”

_It’s not about Cersei. _The realisation hit her like a bolt of lightning. _He mourns the loss of his children…_

As if reading her thoughts, he resumed speaking, confiding his next phrase as though it was the solution to a great mystery. Forbidden fruit being uttered aloud.

“I loved them you know. They were my children. I never got to say it – but they were.” His chest shuddered and she dropped the blade upon the tray, flinging her arms around him as he sobbed into her shoulder. The soapy lather of his beard soaking her collar and coating it in loose hair.

Brienne squeezed her eyes shut and rested her chin atop his head. Soothing him by rubbing circles against his muscular back. Drops seeped from betwixt her own lashes as her love for him adopted his anguish. Feeling for him as though they were one.

_My heart is his, even if he does not know it. I am here for him, I will always be here for him. _

Jaime sniffed, swiping his eyes inelegantly on his sleeve as he pulled away. He grinned sheepishly before explaining. “I had to change anyway.”

She laughed, the contradicting emotions shining in her watery orbs as they settled back into position, ready to commence again.

“Do you like me with a beard?” The random shifts in his topics always gave her pause.

“Yes.” She admitted. “Though it has little to do with me.”

“Hmmm.” He nodded. “Cersei hated me with a beard. She said it made me look less like her.”

Brienne furrowed her brow, unsure of what point he was making. She worked the soap into a foam against her oversized hands, the white froth temporarily blending away the freckles.

Tenderly she applied it back to the contours of his perfectly sculpted jaw, smirking at the way it transformed his face. Jaime simply watched her with avid fascination.

_It is strange the way he stares at me when I perform mundane tasks. He must be telling the truth when he says he never had to do anything for himself. Perhaps he is endeavouring to learn from me…._

She lifted the razor and brought it to his chin.

“Brienne…” She halted for what felt like the hundredth time. “….not too close. I would rather keep my beard.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt Compliance:
> 
> Overgrown seed of envy  
Overgrown beard


	18. Legend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne's POV
> 
> This is my longest chapter in this fic to date. :)

“White Walkers?” Jaime repeated the words with distaste and incredulity, screwing up his nose. “Are they not the stuff of legends? Tales we tell of terrifying creatures to make young lads behave - like grumpkins, snarks …. and my Father.” He chuckled at his own jape, forgetting his spectres for a moment. It eased the chains which bound her heart as she watched him fold his arms and perch against the back of a chair.

_At last the black tide of grief is receding…_

For a over a week the blizzards outside the walls had raged, whilst inside the castle compounds, Brienne had fought valiantly against invisible foes. The unseen enemies within Jaime’s subconscious who were keen to drag him into an abyss of despair. Since her intervention in his chambers, the lion had battled courageously alongside her, waging a war against the guilt and misery that came with the title lone survivor. But it was a tiring struggle. One which challenged both want and propriety.

“Let me come with you.” They were in the hall outside her chambers. Hushed tones still sounding like hollers in the vacant corridors.

“Ser Jaime you cannot.” Her gaze would drop to the floor, unable to contrive reasons for denial when she looked into his stricken eyes. “It is not seemly.”

“I would be a gentleman…”

“I do not doubt it.”

“I could lie upon your lounge or window seat….”

“But still you would be in my bower. A man. Alone. Myself a Lady unchaperoned.”

“We travelled for months together like that.”

“Necessity….” Brienne studied her doorknob as though it were a priceless artefact. Fascinating and requiring scrutiny. “… and there was not a bed.”

Her tone was only a strangled vapour of its usual self. “We are in a castle of noblemen and women. Think of my reputation. I have precious little going for me as it is.”

His crestfallen expression nearly imploded her decision as he backed away. “Goodnight then My Lady.”

However, nights later, past the hour of the wolf, a knock came at her door.

“Wench – are you awake?”

“Jaime…” She growled through the timber, pulling on an overcoat for decency’s sake and to banish the chill. In her dishevelled and sleepy state, she did not care that she disregarded his title. Whipping open the door she glowered at him. Muttering through gritted teeth. “…why don’t you announce to the entire castle that you feel entitled enough to come banging on my door in the middle of the night.”

“They should be sleeping. Why would they care?” He glanced up and down, taking in the full sight of her. “Gods you look a fright.”

“I was asleep.”

“And back to the land of slumber you may go – as soon as you let me in.”

“We discussed this.”

“I am lonely – I cannot rest. I will be quiet.”

“You are not sneaking into my bedchamber Jaime. Especially not so you can walk the floors and bother me – we are not all being given compassionate leave. I have to earn my keep here. I need to be up and dressed before first light – the breaks in the snowfall are seldom and I have been asked to drill the Squires.”

“Then it is nearly morning – why even go back to sleep? I don’t have to come into your chamber, we can wander down to the kitchens and fetch some cocoa…What do you think?”

She had slammed the door in a temper and instantly regretted it. The act itself probably drawing the attention of half the stronghold to the Knight’s presence outside her bedroom. Besides the fact that she felt incredibly badly for treating him thus. It gnawed at her soul until she dressed and indeed did find him milling about the kitchen.

She had apologised profusely and he handed her a steaming cup of cocoa – his triumphant smirk a combination of irritating and becoming. His own beverage resting on the table beside him.

_He ordered two – he knew I would come._

Together they sat and watched the faint winter sunrise in a comfortable silence.

It was upon the third occasion that Brienne found she could not turn him away. She had only retired an hour earlier and was penning correspondence via candlelight. A letter to her Father and another for Podrick.

_I hope that this letter reaches you upon the Quiet Isle and that you are safe…._

Then came a single knock, uncertain and without demand.

“Brienne…” His choked whimper of her name.

The Maid of Tarth had vaulted from her chair beside the window and rushed to him. Opening the door to find him with wet eyes and trembling chin.

“I saw it…. Tommen. He was trying to hide; he was so scared. The roar was deafening. The heat melted the skin from his small frame….”

It was her arms which pulled him across her threshold. Clicking the door shut and throwing care to the wind. Brushing his stained cheeks with the back of her oversized hand.

“It’s just a dream. Night-terrors are vile tormentors – but it’s not real.”

“It happened though. I keep thinking about it. Did they scream? Did Tommen cry? Did Myrcella beg for her life?”

“No good can come of such thoughts.” She clasped his shoulders. “Torturing yourself cannot change what has come to pass.”

“But I keep seeing it. The visions come whenever I close my eyes. I have no control.”

“Stay with me then.” Her reluctance dissipated with his suffering. Her Maiden heart fracturing and bursting interchangeably for him as her logical self chastised her for readily breaking the rules.

_Why should I worry what they say? I have already been called his Whore. I thousand times in my mind I have wanted to embody that very moniker. What difference does this one night make? He needs a bed partner; he needs shelter and solace._

“If I can - I will keep your shadows at bay.”

She had let him in her bed, careful to keep a respectful distance between their bodies. Closing her eyes and feigning slumber. Though once his own breathing found a rhythm she watched him in the dark. His guardian sentinel. Ready to strike at the first sign of his distress.

_Would that he wished to take comfort in my womanhood. The thought does not even cross his mind…_

Eventually fatigue drew her under but the next morning she awoke to a realm completely foreign.

In sleep she was withdrawn, maintaining decency and distance. Jaime however had no such qualms. Her lids fluttered open to the peculiar feeling of hot breath against her neck, a chest rising and falling against her muscular back. Of a leg nestled between her own and an arm slung possessively around her torso.

Warrior’s instincts urged her to lash out, wriggle loose, battle her captor.

Maiden’s instincts compelled her to flee, with bashfully stained cheeks and mortification.

Closing her eyes, she talked herself down from a ledge.

_Remain calm…. Just last night you were lamenting his lack of interest and now that he has you in a fond stranglehold your only reactions are fight or flight. _

_He is not aware of his current predicament – he has moved in his disorientated state._

“Jaime.” She forced the word out calmly, finding her voice locked in her throat.

“Mmmmm.”

Somehow his response was to squeeze her tighter, nosing into the crook of her neck. Wriggling his body against hers in a way that made her tense and thrill in unison.

_You cannot read anything into this. Neither good nor bad. Neither favourable nor frightening. He is just like a moth to a flame, seeking warmth in the cold. _

_It is understandable, it is innocent, it is….oh. _

Her eyes popped open, expanding to massive orbs of shock as a noticeable bulge pressed into her from behind. From an area below his hips. Meeting the vicinity around her upper thighs and buttocks.

Brienne’s pulse began pounding harder than a herd of horse’s hooves. A stampede of blood rush and panic.

_It’s fine, it’s fine. Don’t embarrass him. He does not know it’s me. It is just a natural manly reaction… nothing more. _

But then he sighed a little, the rush of air blasting across her untouched skin and making her ache in ways she did not know. Her body leaning back into him of its own volition as want began to tear her apart.

_What is it that I want… do I even know? One moment I am terrified the next…_

Her backwards movement brought his mouth in contact with her charged flesh. The accidental caress of his lips a pinnacle which she yearned for. She choked back a sob from the unspeakable agony of her predicament.

_Kiss me… _she silently begged_. Kiss me and I am lost. I am yours. _

But it did not come. For it could not. Would not. He was not aware of his actions and that was the only way this inappropriate situation had been brought to a head.

“Jaime.” She shook his arm a little more violently than she intended to. “Wake up.” 

“Why?”

“Just do it.” Her tone was clipped and short as she lay still, waiting for his senses to catch up with him. She knew the moment they did for he sprung back like he’d been stung.

“I apologise My Lady. I did not mean to intrude upon your person. I understand it was a breach of trust and I do sincerely seek forgiveness.”

“You have it.” She replied, all her will power focussed upon keeping the hurt from her voice. “We shan’t mention it again.”

“Thank you.” He mumbled, sufficiently cowed as he pulled on his boots and slipped from her chambers. It was only when the door clicked shut that she’d allowed herself to cry. The tears of rejection and unrequited affection transforming her pillow to a sodden sponge.

Miraculously, they had managed to carry on as though it hadn’t occurred. As though she hadn’t felt his manly hardness or the subsequent pinch of his spurn. His obvious revulsion at his bodily betrayal, being caught lusting after a woman in the euphoria of sleep which he would never react to in such a way in the harsh light of day.

She had settled for beating him into the sludge with her sword, an outburst which served as a change in routine for she usually spared him from complete humiliation. But now Brienne was giving no such concessions. Her blows rained down with ferocity, the clangour radiating throughout the yard and as Jaime landed in the snow barely blocking her downwards arc with Widow’s Wail, understanding dawned across his face.

_At least he has the appropriacy to look ashamed. _

After that she considered him chastened and closed the book on the sorry ordeal. But she noted with some regret that following the ‘morning incident’, he had not revisited her door nor asked to sleep with her again.

“We live in a time where magic is seemingly rebirthed Ser Jaime.” Lord Harrold paced the floor as he collected his arguments. “Dragons woken from their eggs of stone, Red Priests raising the dead…” Brienne and Jaime exchanged an uneasy glance. “… is it not fair to reason that this may be true as well?”

“My Lady?” Jaime sought her opinion with utter sincerity. His green eyes twinkling as he gazed at her with respect. Valuing her input before he made up his mind. Chasing away the fragments of hurt which were still imbedded in her heartstrings.

_Those nicks may bleed from time to time. But I can thrive from what gifts I am given. I could sustain myself upon that very look alone…_

“The Shadow and the Wraith.” Was all she needed to say. He knew to what she referred. “Just when I thought we had seen the darkest this world had to offer.”

“I do believe my half-brother Ser Jaime.” Sansa clasped her hands in front of her, standing shoulder to shoulder with her betrothed. “Jon is not the type to exaggerate or make himself look a fool. He sent this message knowing how fantastical it sounds. If he says that an army of the undead are making their way South – he means it.”

“And let’s say this is true and we believe the end of days is dawning.” The lion crossed and uncrossed his legs languidly. “What has it to do with me? I am hardly everybody’s favourite person. It seems strange that I am included in this circle of sensitive information.”

Lady Stark nudged her future husband, prompting him to talk.

“Ser Jaime as you well know I am a Knight of Summer. The fighting men of the Vale have competed in tourneys and melees, we have been trained by great Masters At Arms - but what we sorely lack is experience in the field. You are a seasoned veteran of war; you have lead armies. Your knowledge of tactics and defence is invaluable if we are to throw back the forces of the Night’s King. We need you to command one of our squadrons.”

“The defence of the Vale will be made at the Ruins of Lakely, west of Strongsong.” Sansa volunteered. “According to the intel Jon has provided, the wights have an aversion to deep water. The area – as the name suggests – is dotted with Lakes. Utilising this we can cover more area and adopting the advantage which high ground and the shelter of the ruins affords, it is the hopes of our Council that we can prevent them entering further into the Vale. We have called our Banners – Lord Baelish is at this moment visiting his own homelands along with our outer provinces to rally all able-bodied men. Our own efforts will be simultaneous with a stand being made at the Twins. Troops are being sent from the South and Jon is co-ordinating the efforts. The allied forces of The Seven Kingdoms are temporarily placing aside their grievances to assist in the common cause. It is imperative that the Walkers do not make it past the Neck.”

“I hate to rain upon your parade.” Jaime’s sardonic tone hinted there was a point they were missing. “But I’m afraid I have to decline – small, petty, insignificant reasons of course.”

_Why must he always goad? The lion truly does defer to none._

At his impudence Lord Harrold seemed incredibly displeased. “Given the hospitality we have extended to you…”

“My dear-“ The comely girl touched his hand placatingly whilst Jaime watched in amusement. “-what harm in hearing him out? It would do better to have leaders united in co-operation rather than resentful of coercion. He must have his reasons – best to enquire them.”

“Fine.” The Warden of the East conceded reluctantly, quietly seething. “Say what you wish to say.”

“Who exactly would the men think I am?” The former Lord toyed with his words, sing-songing them in mock of the young knight. “I must remain nameless, I no longer claim my title nor do I display my lions. These sacrifices are with just cause - the more people who know of my presence here the more danger I am in – along with all those complicit.”

“I can swear my men to silence...”

“An allegiance and loyalty to a newly made liege that would surpass the decree of a monarch and a hefty sum of coin. I must say I’m sufficiently impressed.”

His barely contained sarcasm made Brienne sigh. “Ser Jaime…. The weight of the world settles upon us. Must you be so antagonistic?”

Jaime favoured her with a one-sided smirk. “There!” He gestured to her. “There is your solution. Standing before you in all her lofty tow-headed glory.”

Lord Harry glanced in her direction, cynicism creasing his young brow.

“Lady Brienne will take command, with myself as her advisor. She is not a common foot soldier and I will not have her reduced as such. She will lead, taking direct charge of the forces with my private guidance and direction from the sidelines. I speak through her – or not at all.” Jaime threw her a wink which only she could see and a warmth spread out from beneath her ribs. “She is my right hand afterall.”

“Well I cannot say I object. Nor am I in a position to.” Lord Harrold inclined his head. “What say you Lady Brienne? Will you accept the post?”

“With honour. I swear that together we will defend your Kingdom to the best of our ability.”

_Jaime gave me his rank – a leadership that should be his. _

The respect and trust the gesture implied was more meaningful to her than a kingdom’s worth of flowers and jewels which more conventional women were showered with.

“And thereafter….” Lady Sansa crossed over to stand between them both. “…when Westeros is saved and the snow has settled. I will consider both of your oaths fulfilled and release you from my service. Very soon I shall be Lady of the Vale. We are moving our nuptials up – we are to be wed in three days’ time. A merry occasion and cause for celebration before we face impending doom.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt compliance:
> 
> Legends of White Walkers


	19. Wild

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime's POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all! Just taking a moment to say a big thank you for all the gorgeous comments I have been receiving.  
Your support is what keeps me typing and I have been over the moon to see readers who are following this story, through the prompts, the ups and downs, the slow burn and the angst!  
You all mean the world to me and bring the biggest smile to my face!  
Hugs! <3 Madelyn (NightReaderEnigma)

The tavern was rowdy, a debaucherous cacophony of Valesmen and whores. Tankards of ale spilled over, the floorboards coated in its sticky excess as serving wenches sidestepped snaking hands keen to grope. Harrold hooted with laughter, ordering another round, the young lordling wild and unreserved as he celebrated his last night as a single man.

Jaime sat off to the side, nursing his goblet of wine and watching the uninhibited youths revel in their freedoms with fascination. The lion himself had never behaved as such – his golden years having been squandered in responsibility, shame and ill-placed fidelity.

A woman of the night sauntered towards him, swinging her hips in a way he was sure she intended to be arousing. Her ample bosom spilling from her low-cut dress, emphasized more when she leant over him giving an unobstructed view of her cleavage and slipping one of her sleeves suggestively off the shoulder.

_So this is her craft – routines as tried and tested as swordplay. The motions practised from a book of seduction which ensure she stays profitable for yet another night…_

She boldly placed a hand upon his thigh and Jaime shook his head, wordlessly indicating that she should return to the main party.

Visibly confused by his disinterest, she hastily withdrew from his personal space and sought more eager clientele.

Jaime sighed with relief. He had been refusing the advances of women for decades and was well versed in diverting their charms.

_This is not for me – this den of depravity and meaningless sex. _

For a time after Cersei’s betrayal he had considered embracing his emancipation from her chains. Sowing his seed and chasing his release in every willing camp follower or wanton noblewoman. His mind had talked the talk, but his inclinations had not followed suit. Instead of finding attraction in glimpses of thigh and flashes of breast – the only thing he found alluring was innocence. A trait which he soon came to realise was encapsulated in one singular woman.

_I fucked up. _

Placing his cup aside he pinched the bridge of his nose between two fingers. Thinking of his ill-timed stimulation the other morning always caused an almost instantaneous headache.

_She was so mad at me – she wouldn’t even look at me. And the thrashing she gave me in the yard. _

He had deserved it. He knew he did. The liberties he had taken in the bed by snuggling close to her, touching her. He let his guard down, relaxing and forgetting whilst he dozed that she was not in fact his woman. No matter how much it felt like she was. 

_Of course my manhood would react to Brienne – I have wanted her since….._

It had been so long he couldn’t pinpoint an exact starting time.

_And now I scared her. The one thing I never wanted to do. I violated our trust when she permitted me between her sheets. _

_If only I had behaved, I could have rested with her again. Been close like when it was just us on the open road. _

_Now she has shut me out and I would be an audacious knave to dare approach her door again. _

Jaime sighed, draining his goblet and signalling for a refill. He missed the privilege of her touch. A treasure that he had been afforded, earnt through time and dependability.

_How can I not know myself? Know my own stupidity and recklessness? _

_To think I would be content to share a bed with my Maid of Tarth and not reach for her. That I would resist rubbing my nose against that delicious speckled neck and finding out how her taut abdomen feels beneath my palm. Did I seriously think I would be immune to my impulses? I love her! How was I going to deny myself? _

_I acted wildly, my behaviour went unchecked and now it has cost me._

He could laugh at his own idiocy. That once he had tried to fool himself into thinking that a trifling dalliance, or empty liaison with a stranger could ever be enough for him. It did not even hold appeal.

Jaime Lannister was a man who gave his heart, his constancy and faith. His body was threaded with emotions and his hunger for physical gratification was inseparable from the yearnings of his love.

Once recognised it was indubitable. More a part of him than the skin in which he was bound.

Only Brienne could quench his thirst, douse this fire.

He swallowed past his sudden desperate dehydration - watching the gyrating irreverent bodies just made him crave her more. Her sweetness, naivete and unrefined perfection the sole taste which would dance with liquid heat upon his tongue.

_Brienne – if she were wine I would drink myself giddy upon her, until I stumbled around like a befuddled imbecile, declaring I never wished to indulge in anything else ever again. The mere thought of her makes me salivate – I could lie and tell myself just one sip, just a sample…. But I know it would never be enough. _

_Every scrap of her she blesses me with just makes me crazy for more. Though it is not addiction – that would be in opposition to my will. No, it is adoration. A knowing devotion. Some time ago my soul passed into her care and with the dedication of a Septon or Maester I consign myself to her. _

_My desires, my penchants, my weaknesses and my strengths. _

_If I be crippled, if I be wretched, if I be pathetic and unworthy – for it is all true. Then still I would be hers, with all my faults. _

_It is too late, I am given. Now it is her choice whether to accept me or cast me aside. _

Maybe it was the alcohol giving him bravado – but in that moment he made up his mind.

_I must tell her, show her. Before it is too late. Before the world is war and corpses – just once for us the world should be brushing lips and whispered confessions._

_Tomorrow. _

He avowed it to himself and whatever spirits were listening.

_A wedding is a romantic occasion and I will not let another opportunity pass me by. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt Compliance:
> 
> A wild buck's night!  
'I acted wildly'


	20. Ornament

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne's POV  
aka Sansa's Wedding Pt 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, ok, ok. Soooo, I know that Jaime thought 'tomorrow' but that was 'tomorrow' in Westeros.  
In chapter publication time.... not necessarily because we are shifting POV's. Sorry!  
Once again - I blame the Inktober Prompts, they are the boss of this fic. 
> 
> But.... this chapter is super short. (I have been typing away behind the scenes.)  
Now generally my rule is I only drop one chapter per night... but I have probably about 3 hours until I go to bed.  
So as I don't want to be a tease when you have all been so lovely to me, I could potentially post a second chapter tonight, just to speed things along if you all want. 
> 
> As to what happens in these chapters? Well for now that remains between me and my keyboard. <3 Madelyn

Lady Sansa was resplendent in her gown of silver-white. The sleeves long and dagged, accentuating dainty hands and slender arms. Her attendants fussed and cooed, pinning her red braids atop her head and threading delicate crystals between the woven strands. The Stark girl smiled as she turned towards Brienne, the finely detailed ornament of the fabric catching dappled rays of winter sunlight.

The Maid of Tarth inhaled sharply, overcome by her radiance. “You look exquisite My Lady.”

Stepping forward on slippered feet, Sansa took the warrior’s hands in hers, glowing with excitement and jubilance. “So do you.”

Brienne scoffed, despite herself. “Hardly. You are too kind.”

After scouring the castle, a dress had been found to fit her. The only option which would accommodate her broad frame, having belonged to a Lady of much larger girth and therefore far more ample bosom. The seamstresses had worked to adjust it, taking it in at the front and cinching its waist, but could do little for the fact that it was baggy and too short by almost a foot. Its sole saving grace was its blue colour, but the shade was ghastly and deep, contrasting against her pale complexion and seeming to emphasise the scar from the noose ringing her neck. She pulled at the collar, trying to raise it up and cover the angry jagged gashes the bear had left upon her clavicle, only now noticing that she had burst a seam on the sleeve when she wriggled it over her biceps.

_No, Lady Sansa. You are sweet to say, but in this gown I am far from becoming…._

“I cannot believe I am to be wed.” Lady Stark chatted merrily as she fastened a pendant and chain around her neck. “I have been dreaming of this day my whole life…. Although I was married to Lord Tyrion, it felt wrong from the onset – vows made under duress and flanked by enemies. He was kind enough to me, but nothing can compare to a match when it is right.”

She tilted her head to the side and regarded the tall woman standing before her. “Did you not desire your own wedding day Lady Brienne?”

“Yes and no.” The swordswoman brought her hand up, self-consciously covering the torn stiches on her sleeve. “Is it a delightful fantasy? Yes. The idea of love and being loved by one man above all others, of pledging your life, soul and body to him in sight of Gods and men?” She sighed. “That I could most certainly embrace. But being married off like goods to be traded, to a man who will never love me – only my island and my title. To be used as his brood mare, ridden for duty and whipped when I misbehave? I had that option My Lady and I refused it. Bluntly. With a Morningstar.”

Sansa giggled, a sweet melodic sound entirely befitting of a girl on her wedding day. She beckoned Brienne closer with a crooked finger.

“You cannot tell me you have given up on romance… for I would not believe it. I have seen the way you look at Ser Jaime.”

“The way I behold Ser Jaime is something else entirely. Beyond both his and my comprehension it would seem.” She gazed at a blank space upon the wall as she felt her eyes mist. “And if you have seen my affection for him and he has not – then mayhaps he does not wish to see it.”

“Lady Brienne…” The bride placed a comforting hand upon her arm but she shied away.

“I am fine.” She lied. “I know how to be content with what I have and to recognise those wishes which are impossibilities. I can pin all my hopes upon a star and it would still not be as unobtainable to me as the golden lion. But do not squander a second of your special day on thoughts of me. I am proud to be serving as a Commander with Ser Jaime at my side. It is a glory which he bestowed upon me out of esteem and that means the world.”

Composing herself, she retreated behind her walls of iron.

_Behind these I am invisible and I am safe. _

She grinned broadly at the dazzling girl before her, letting crooked teeth show and ignoring the wrinkled nostrils and whispers behind hands from the ladies-in-waiting visible over her shoulder.

“My Lady Stark…your Mother would be so proud. . .”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt Compliance:
> 
> detailed ornament of Sansa's Wedding Dress


	21. Misfit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne's POV  
Sansa's Wedding Pt 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised! I am true to my word.  
Here is the second installment in one night.  
This chapter is shorter as well, in preparation for a couple longer ones coming up. :)

The reception was well underway, the dancing and gaiety bringing exuberant colour to an otherwise dull Winter’s night.

Brienne leant against a pillar at the far side of the room, arms pinned behind her as she watched the couples' poise and elegance. Engaged gracefully in well-rehearsed steps, the tutelage of half a hundred Septa’s being put to good use. 

“Are you going to give me the honour?” Jaime nudged her playfully, tugging her hand from where it was wedged between her back and the stone, the material catching against the rough surface and making a scraping sound. He cocked his head to the side frowning when he glimpsed her skin peeking through the fabric.

“Did I do that?”

“No – I did earlier.” She exhaled loudly, her mood quite dark. She was not in the correct frame of mind to handle his teasing, her conversation with Lady Sansa having dredged up a plethora of unwelcome feelings. “And the answer to your other question is no as well.”

“You are going to leave me partnerless?” He pouted.

“There are plenty of wallflowers who would happily indulge your desire to dance. You have no need of me trampling upon your feet.”

“But I only have one hand – I have ceased wearing the gold one and it will make them feel awkward. I cannot ask a Lady to hold my stump…”

“Oh, so you cannot ask a Lady but you can ask me. How flattered I am Ser, but my declination stands.”

“Brienne I didn’t mean it that way….”

“_Lady _Brienne. _Lady. _You may remember my title on passing occasions. I know it is easy to forget, given the dispute my appearance lends to my gender but at formal affairs where I am forced to wear this…” She slapped angrily at the thick fabric of her skirt. “…hideous thing. The least you could do is address me properly.”

“Alright, I’m sorry My Lady. Whatever I have done to have caused such offence, can you please let me know so I can apologise and put an end to your ill-humour.”

“What would bring it to an end would be if you left me be.”

“Why?”

She grit her teeth. “For once in our association don’t question me Ser Jaime! I wish to be left alone.”

“Fine.”

“Good.”

Breathing heavily she watched him stride through the crowd, her heart already sinking to see him go and not have him by her side. She threw herself back against the column with a groan, the swirling masses of angst inside her finding no relief in his absence.

_I must learn not to ache for him so…. To accept what I am and that a day like this will never be mine. _

Her blue eyes searched the crowd for the bride and groom, locating them in their seats at the high table. Lord Harrold’s hand rested atop the new Lady Arryn’s and they spoke amongst themselves as though not a single soul existed outside of their universe of two.

Pain lanced within her chest, a hot poker of jealousy and pining. The abundance of love in her heart left unwanted, the degree to which she would adore her man irrelevant.

Guests brushed past her rudely, hardly masking their disdain. Recoiling almost immediately when they glanced behind and caught a glimpse of her face. She tucked her chin to her chest and turned her head to the side. In the one move trying to hide her scars and disfigured cheek.

_I am more walking war-wound than a woman…_

Finding her courage she lifted her vision again, scanning the room for Jaime. She found him brooding near the refreshments table. Drawing the focus of several ladies who flushed prettily and tried to grab his attention.

_What becomes of a misfit who longs for a God? _

_Even stripped of his worldly possessions, from his face alone he is a man that can have anyone - and I am a woman whom nobody wants. _

“-even if I wished to dance all the pretty maids are taken or swooning at the blonde Knight over there.” Drunken male voices. “-all that’s left is the hulking beast bursting out of her sack.”

A chorus of laughter followed and she wished she had her sword. _Then who would be laughing…_

“That’s the only sack she’s ever getting near!”

_I have heard worse… _She reminded herself, instinctively hunching in, making herself smaller.

“She’s known as a Maid for good reason, balls shrivel up and go backwards at the sight of her.”

_I have been on the receiving end of far more nasty insults…. _

It still hurt though.

The weight of a stare made her forehead prickle and she caught Jaime’s gaze from across the room. His brow creased and eyes shone green even at this distance as he mouthed ‘are you alright?’

She did not know whether he could hear their guffawing. Whether he knew the degree of their disrespect and cruelty.

_But I do not wish to suffer the embarrassment of telling him…_

Turning sharply, she left the room, making a point of shoving one of the lackwits out of the way as she passed.

<><><><><><><> 

Some distance down the hall where the sconces threw ripples of burnt orange light to contrast against the black, Brienne doubled over, intaking great lungfuls of air. Willing her temper to calm, her anguish to ease, her volatility to ebb. Resting her hands on her knees she tried to regather her trademark common sense. Convince herself it was all juvenile and immature, not worth her time or her tears.

Footsteps pounded down the hall, their insistent clomp purposeful and headed straight for her.

_That bastard – he dishes out insults but then is enraged when I dare to push him – if the coward thinks he will best me, he is mistaken. _

A hand grabbed her shoulder roughly and she grabbed at the wrist, twisting it painfully in her iron grasp until the assailant yelped.

Pivoting around to confront him head on, her face fell and her blood ran cold when she saw Jaime clutching the wrist of his good hand between his chest and his stump. His expression aggrieved and confused.

“Seven Hells! I was coming to make peace with you. What did I do to deserve that?!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt Compliance:
> 
> 'What becomes of a misfit who longs for a God?'  
The whole theme of this chapter is the overall feeling of being a misfit.


	22. Sling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne's POV

Brienne hovered fretfully at the doorway, handfuls of ice slowly beginning to melt, wrapped tightly within the fabric bundle she held in her arms. Worrying at her bottom lip she sidestepped to allow the older man to exit Jaime’s bedchamber.

“The Maester says it is just a sprain.” At the sound of his voice she gradually tore her doleful azure eyes from the floorboards, awaiting the accusation to be reflected in his of emerald green. “I will have to wear a sling for the next few days to assist and speed up the healing. He says it is necessary if I am to be back in fighting form in as little time as possible.”

“He told me a snow-pack could help.” She mumbled, holding out the dripping bundle, hoping her guilt was conveyed through the sincerity of her apologetic tone.

“Are you going to bring it?”

“I didn’t think you would desire my presence.” The Maid of Tarth shifted from foot to foot. “I have done enough damage haven’t I?”

Jaime shrugged. “And what hand am I supposed to hold that on with?” He smirked, releasing her from blame with his confounding capacity for caring. The one which he smothered beneath layers of snark and swagger. “Come here.”

“I’m so sorry.” She barrelled across the threshold in such haste she nearly forgot to fasten the door, having to backtrack in order to flick the lock. In three long strides she had made up the delay, perching on the edge of the bed beside him. Taking his left wrist gently in her hands and pressing the freezing compress against it. “For everything... I am not myself tonight.”

“You’re entitled I suppose.” Jaime leaned in and conspiratorially added. “This once.”

He inhaled sharply at the pressure and the sharp coldness of the ice. Brienne could feel it as well, burning her hands red through the opposite sides of the fabric.

_I care not about myself, I inflicted the damage. _

She diligently checked the distribution of the snow, ensuring it reached all necessary angles. Jaime watched her with a frown. “What’s upsetting you?”

“I hurt you.”

“Not now Wench… then. At the wedding.”

“Numerous things and nothing.” Brienne endeavoured to answer him as honestly as she could. “It is immaterial.”

“Who did you think I was? You were ready for a fight.”

“Some loudmouths sharing a joke at my expense. Nothing out of the usual, I just thought one had pursued me, I may have given him a shove as I made my departure from the festivities.”

Jaime’s scowl deepened. “What did they say? I saw you curl in on yourself and I wondered what was wrong, but I did not hear them...."

“They are more mindful of how they speak when you are beside me. Jaime it matters little. They are inebriated words on the wind.”

“People have disparaged me for years, I know how it can bite. You do not always have to be impenetrable My Lady, I would think no less of you. The slights mattered enough that you left.”

“I was planning making my exit anyway; my temper was ill and I could bring nothing but misery to the celebrations.”

He continued to persist. “Tell me what they looked like. I will gladly teach them a lesson.”

“I do not need you fighting my battles for me. Especially not ones as trivial as this. Seriously Ser Jaime, if you were to fight every man or woman whose expression contorted at my appearance you would never have leave to eat nor sleep.”

“That doesn’t make it right - and these dolts I know about.”

“How are you going to fight them? One handed and with a sprained wrist?” She unwrapped his arm from the puddling package, placing it aside before it could soak the mattress. Absentmindedly keeping him cradled in her own palm, stroking the back of his icy flesh with her fingers. “Let it go.” She whispered. “I do not care about what they think….”

“What do you care about?”

She sniffled, warring against the resurgence of her earlier emotions. Further compounded by the horror she felt at hurting Jaime, even if by accident.

Her long digits ran back and forth, tracing an endless line across his smooth skin. Wishing she felt its warmth instead of the frozen numbness left by the cold pack. Her lips moved without permission, her faint speech coming of its own volition. “It’s obvious isn’t it?”

Without conscious thought she was raising his wrist to her mouth, pressing soft kisses against the invisible injury. The sting of tears threatening the corners of her eyes as she refused to look at him. _I cannot bear to see his face – the rejection, the revulsion. I could not take it again._

“Brienne…” She heard the rustle of the bedspread as he edged forward, closing the distance between their brows. “…Look at me.”

She shook her head, squeezing her eyes closed and resting her chin against his forearm. The blackness behind her lids a dark corner she could hide in, sparing her from truths she’d rather not know.

“Wench – will you not meet my gaze?”

Something bumped against her cheek, before quickly withdrawing. She cracked one eye open long enough to see a flash of scarred flesh as his stump disappeared from the view beneath her lashes.

“Sorry.” Absurdly he was apologising, tucking the puckered flesh beneath his knees, as though sitting on it would prevent him from impinging upon her with the supposedly offensive limb again. “I forgot.”

_Does he not know that I thrill to his touch? Stump, fingers or hand, I welcome it. There is not a part of Jaime that could repel me, especially not that which he lost in my defence… If he did not conceal it from me, I would reach for it now. But he clearly doesn’t want me too…_

She dragged her thumb against the wrist she clasped, feeling the bumps of gooseflesh prickling his chilly skin, holding on, rubbing, trying to demonstrate her affection without the humiliation of uttering the words aloud.

“Sweetling… my flesh is numb. I cannot feel it. And Gods….” His voice was gravel, a rawness to its timbre which she had never heard before. “… I want to feel it.”

Surprise made her look up, to where verdant orbs bore into her own. Consuming her through dilated pupils, delving deeper, seeing straight into her soul.

“We should get your sling on while it’s still deadened.” Brienne picked up the strip of cloth which the Maester left upon the corner of the bed, conscientiously binding him and setting her mind to work.

“Then as you do I’m going to tell you something, for I had made up my mind to do so well before the events of this evening.”

With deft fingers she continued to wind and criss-cross, absorbed by her task and keen to let Jaime prattle.

_Let him talk, it will break the tension…_

“My Lady – for some time I have not been entirely honest with you and that troubles me more than I can say-” He paused.

_If he is awaiting my reaction, he will not receive it. I have made enough of a fool of myself this night. _

“-Though given the last few minutes I now have reason to think that perhaps you have not been upfront with me either.”

Her eyes flickered towards him, barely an acknowledgment, as she tied a loop in the bandage, reaching up to slip it over his head. All too aware of how close their faces came; the heat of his breathing against her mangled cheek, as she arranged the folds of cloth at the base of his neck.

Brienne froze in place as his stumped arm wrapped around her from behind, holding her in this intimate proximity. Refusing to release her even when her duty was complete.

Pretending to be undaunted, she made a point of tucking the edges of the sling on his shoulder, all whilst her heart hammered against her ribcage more insistently than if she had just run three miles.

“Stubborn woman…” He chuckled. “… but that is alright. It’s one of the reasons why I love you.”

Her hand stilled and her face turned to his - warmth, hope, delight and fervent longing bursting in a tidal flood from her chest, all whilst her brain screamed…

_He means friend, he means like a friend. Don’t be so gullible - the ‘but’ is coming. _

_You cannot soar high, think of how far you will fall…._

“I’m in love with you Brienne.” He tilted his golden head to the side mystified. “Did you not know it?”

She wanted to respond but all that came were ragged breaths, her body trembling against his as they hovered in their odd positioning.

If she lowered herself down within his one-armed embrace she would be seated upon his lap but if she moved back even an iota he may misunderstand.

Therefore, willingly she remained suspended, her bones locked and cementing her there, leaning over him. Her ears still denying that which she just heard. Her statuesque figure afraid to flinch or move a muscle, petrified that by doing so she would break the spell and shatter the moment.

She remained immobile even when he released her waist, forgetting his crippling long enough to bring his stump around and brush a lock of blonde hair from her temple. 

“I’m sorry again.” He gave her a wan smile, brandishing his disfigurement. “I just want to touch you and I’m unable…”

With that phrase all her joints unlatched, as she grabbed his stump and pulled it to her, pressing kisses attentively across the furrowed mark of his scar, repeating the process she had done for his other arm.

He watched her with watery eyes, his lips parted in awe.

“Stop apologising.” Brienne commanded, wrapping her fingers around where his hand should have begun. “I don’t mind your stump. It’s a part of you. And there’s not a part of you I don’t adore.”

“Come closer Wench.” She watched his hand flex and twitch within its fabric prison, pulling forward by instinct and impulse. “I would reach for you but I can’t – I want your lips.”

When she moved forward ever so slightly, he surged for her mouth. Crashing upon her like a meteor hurtling from the heavens. A blinding flash of light so bright before her eyes it joyously blinded.

_I never thought my star could fall from above to meet me – the one I pinned all my dreams upon…_

Her lips were tremulous beneath his own, so unsure and fearful of faltering as she pecked at his mouth. Not knowing how the art was to transform from tender brushes against skin to this melee of fervency. He growled in playful frustration as he brought his stump to behind her head, trying to guide her forward and encourage her to respond.

Seizing her courage she framed his face in her hands, scratching thumbs and fingers through his beard and applying more pressure behind her kiss. His nose bumped against hers and she smiled shyly, willing to please but lacking experience. Jaime's grin back was wolfish and seductive, tracing her jaw with his wrist and bringing it to the dent of her chin. He pressed slightly, pulling down, parting her guileless lips and slipping his tongue into the waiting heat of her mouth.

A moan escaped her, the audible release of pent up longing as she finally assigned a description to the craving which had been eating away at her.

_This… I wanted this. _

Warmth coursed through her veins pooling in her core, sweeter and richer than they cocoa they had once shared, more delicious and nourishing than the pears to their starving stomachs. Her oversized hand knotted in his blonde locks as she refused to let him go, urging him to deepen the kiss, forge their connection, tie the invisible ropes which bound them tighter, promise her they could never unravel.

She cried out in despair when he pulled away, frightened of the cold air against her moist and swollen lips. Terrified of never feeling that incredible sensation again.

He nipped at her ear, as she held him tight, enveloping her arms around his neck and squeezing until he winced at her crushing his sprained wrist encased between them.

“Do you know…” Another nibble. “…. How long I’ve wanted to do that?”

“Yes.” Brienne nodded into his shoulder. “As long as I have.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt Compliance:
> 
> Jaime's wrist is now in a sling. ;)


	23. Tread

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime's POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A new chapter to take the crown of 'longest chapter to date' :)

Disentangling her arms, Brienne pushed him backwards onto the mattress with a playful thwack, the bedhead vibrating against the wall as the floorboards creaked beneath their dual weight. She startled herself with the force of her joyous tackle, her hand flying to her face in dismay and Jaime let his laughter peel into the air of his chamber.

The atmosphere heavy, their declarations lingering in the confined space, each gulp of oxygen scented with lust, musty furs and Brienne. She threaded fingers through his golden curls, combing them outwards as they created a natural halo around his head, the intensity of her sapphires making him weak as he lay supine and completely at the mercy of his warrior woman’s whims.

“What will you do with me?” He dragged her hips against his wickedly, his stump massaging the small of her back.

“You have me at a disadvantage Ser.” She was taking inventory of every inch of his face. Analysing each twitch of his muscles and subtleties of expression.

_If she is looking for falseness – she will not find it. _

_If it is insincerity she seeks – she needs to look elsewhere. _

_For in my heart is only the elation of love – unadulterated and genuine. _

“I fear I do not know how to proceed – what am I supposed to do in this situation?” Her serious countenance grappled with her questions, looking at him to lead. She was so methodical and logical, a wisdom beyond her years guiding her every deed.

Brienne could survive, forage, hunt, build shelter, fight the worst of men and return him from the clutches of death – but when it came to chasing passions she was a fragile fawn, taking her first wobbling steps in a large imposing forest.

“Not think.” He responded leaning up to kiss her. “This is all intuition Wench.”

She shook her head slightly, grazing her teeth across her lower lip in reverence of the abiding phantoms of sensation, exploring where he had tugged only a moment before. “My only instincts say that at this point I am supposed to produce a dagger and yell ‘yield.’”

“Well that has potential too.” He chuckled, admiring the varying shades of her freckles. The darker sprinklings of brown mixed with those only blossoming. Like the blooms on a shrub newly waking to spring. He wondered if more would emerge, new buds bursting from the spaces in between, fledgling pigments turning darker as they ripened. Or if the harsh winter had frozen the precious dots in suspended reality. Not to be reawakened until the summer sun kissed her ivory once more.

_My what a good idea…._

He reached forward to nip at the adorable spattering, itching for his lips to chart every endearing mark. His longing to explore the rest of her body, curling from slumber like a wild animal emerging from hibernation….

_Keep it in check. _He reminded himself. _Plenty of time for such tempting activities but for now..._

She pulled away as he began and he stopped. His lips connecting only with empty air. “Did I do something wrong?”

“Biter.” Brienne responded, placing a hand over the messy tangle of scarred tissue. “The last time a mouth was coming at my cheek….” She sucked in a noisy breath and expelled it again, calming herself.

“It’s alright.” He soothed, horrendous visions flooding his mind of what that abomination had done to her. “I should have thought.”

“I’m sorry. I am more trouble than I am worth by far.”

“Hey that’s not fair, I own that title.”

“No-” Her jaw took on that obstinate set he knew so well, the one she wore when she was preparing to contend with him. It never failed to stoke a fire in his blood and crotch.

_The myriad of occasions when I have wanted to smother her pig-headed arguments with my lips… now I can. _

“-You are a….mmmnnn.“

Her protestations fell away as she made that delightful noise again. The one which she seemed to reserve specifically for when he explored her mouth with his tongue. She pressed her torso to his as their duels of words morphed into a play of lips and sighs.

“Ahhh….” He cringed, another more painful jab twisting through his sprained wrist as she bore down upon his chest.

“What did I do?” She was so nervous of erring with him, of ruining their newfound intimacy. Brienne wore every concern clearly on her open face. The innocence of her almost making him forget the reason he exclaimed in the first place. It was all so farcical he could only chortle, the humour in their present predicament not lost on him.

“Nothing Brienne.” He felt his face erupt in a smile and detested how it made her more timorous.

_She thinks I am mocking her. How I loathe everyone who taught her she was a jape. Including myself. _“My slab of frozen meat is thawing.”

He risked more pain to shift his arm within the sling, determined to end her confusion.

“Is the numbing wearing off?”

“Of course.” He nosed her temple, sniffing her hair. “It is sandwiched between two rather heated bodies. I’m surprised steam is not coming off it.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” She rolled her eyes. “Such a thing is impossible.”

“Is it now?” He hummed, the urge to tease bubbling up and over. “Tell me - was it impossible for you to heat a naked man so much it banished the internal cold of hypothermia?”

She pushed back on her forearms, bracing them against his shoulders, her eyes wide and incredulous. “You were unconscious!”

“And you were unreserved. So much so, I thought it a dream. Until your blush gave you away.”

There it was again. The red pigment exploding on her complexion like starbursts.

_Do I dare to bring up the other incident?_

“Or….” He dragged out his pronunciation, making her hang on every word in mortified anticipation. “… are you going to deny that we were not both simmering betwixt your sheets the other morning? The friction between our scorching forms could have turned the glaciers of the North to liquid. If we had been by the Wall, it would have fallen that very day in a tidal wave.”

“Jaime…”

“You are an honest wench… do you refute it?”

“I do not.” She mumbled. “But I thought only I could feel it…. I could never have been so presumptive as to think it was mutual.”

“And now…?” He trailed his stump agonisingly slowly down the length of her spine, illusionary fingers longing to tug at laces and outline every hint of muscle. The strength in even her back enticing him, the way it gave way to the secret womanly curve of her hips and buttocks. A feminine trait only he knew. The memory of Harrenhal vivid still, for he had revisited his vision often enough, to make it seem only yesterday.

“Do you deny that you are making every part of me simmer?” He pushed her groin against his own, this time glad to let her feel his eagerness, straining his breeches.

“No.” She squeaked, her voice the highest octave he had ever heard.

“Good.” His devilish grin was triumphant.

She wriggled in his arms as he kissed her neck, testing the feel of his arousal beneath her and tantalising him with her naivete.

“Tread carefully my wench – for of the many ways you could try to kill me this is certainly the most creative.”

“How?”

“Because I fucking want you. Badly. And I have only an injured arm and a stump. That is not the way I intend to enjoy our first coupling – being deprived of touching you, feeling you…” Another wicked smirk. “…. Stimulating you.”

“Ser Jaime…” She was flushed all the way down to her chest. The bear scars a dark maroon against the pinking of her skintone. The hot and bothered flesh trailing down to where the collar of her dress began, disappearing beneath the grotesque navy fabric. The Golden lion growled deep in his throat, indulging in fantasies of her small pert buds concealed just beyond his sight.

“There is much of my woman I want to explore. My left hand may not be ideal but given my right has turned to dust it will have to do. But you are very lucky that you have me tied up for even with one hand I can….”

Insistent knocking pounded upon his chamber door and a guard’s voice thundered through the wood. “Ser – your presence is requested in the war council room immediately.”

He flung himself backwards with an exasperated groan as Brienne lowered her forehead to his chest.

She gradually released a large lungful of air and Jaime realised her breath had been bated at his words.

_Fuck – she has no idea how provocative she is. _

“Do you think there’s any of that snowpack left Wench?” He muttered in deflated annoyance. “I’m going to need it.”

<><><><><><><><> 

He dragged Brienne by the arm into the packed strategy room. They were running late.

She had lingered behind his walls, shrinking and cringing whilst the same guard hammered insistently upon her door, mere metres down the hall.

“He knows I’m not in there….”

“How can he possibly? He cannot see through oak and I didn’t answer him either.”

“That makes it worse!” She hissed. “They will think we were engaged in sordid activities.”

“Weren’t we?”

She smacked at him then and he wedged her against the doorframe to kiss her.

_Another desire achieved – to kiss Brienne when she is fussing about propriety._

Hauling her through the entryway, they kept a low profile as they edged their way towards where the Commanders gathered. Many were sleepy eyed or considerably drunk and Jaime was glad that even with his strung-up arm, he still did not look the motliest of them.

Shoving the wench in front of him – effectively obscuring his identity - he watched her straighten her hair for the umpteenth time. Never before had she fretted over her locks but in the past half an hour she had become determined that even the slightest mussing would be indicative of improper congress.

_If only that were true… I would feel a great deal more satisfied right now…._

He bumped into her from behind on purpose and she narrowed her blue eyes at him over her shoulder - but he thrilled when she took enough advantage of the limited room to press her back to his chest.

_Would that I could wrap my arms around her, let all here present know she’s mine._

“Poor Lady Sansa…” Brienne whispered. “…just when you thought you were having a rough night.”

The bride and groom had not been spared from the urgency of the meeting. The new Lady Arryn standing dutifully in the centre of the room whilst Lord Harrold addressed the assembly.

“I wonder at what point exactly they were interrupted…”

That comment earnt him an elbow to the ribs.

“Hush up.” She scolded.

_I love it when she attempts to curb my tongue. I will have to tell her I work better with incentives than lectures. The more inventive the better…_

If the meeting was important, Jaime wasn’t concentrating. The only thing he was successful in centring upon was the luscious warrior woman in front of him.

_Gods I could have been interlocked with my wench right now… Torn off my sling, ignored the pain. The ecstasy would have drowned it out. _

_Those legs alone are worth it… I wonder if her thighs are freckled like in my dream…_

He mentally conjured the image of her in the bath at Harrenhal but realised with dismay he had been too preoccupied by other areas in the vicinity to graph the pattern of her complexion.

“Jaime…” The muscles of Brienne's back clenched and he finally tuned in to the briefing.

“Yes – Lord Baelish is certain.” Harry was addressing a query from one of the minor officers. “The footprints of the dead are unmistakable. The tread their shuffling gait leaves in the snow capable of being tracked. It is believed the group of wights were little more than a scouting party but even though they were easily despatched it is now certain more shall follow. Make no mistake – they are coming. By reports from the North we have little more than two sennights before mankind makes its last stand.”

Lord Arryn stepped back, gripping his wife’s hand, his gaze sweeping the entirety of the room.

Low down, secreted from prying eyes by the dense cluster of bodies, Brienne mirrored the action. Seeking Jaime’s stump and closing her fingers tightly around it.

“Commanders – gather your belongings. Lakely is a fair march from the Eyrie and even on horseback we can only expect to arrive a day or two ahead of the undead army at best. Get a good night’s sleep. We must set out tomorrow.”

<><><><><><><> 

Their chamber door ritual was well rehearsed, a routine of lingering glances, unspoken want and sorry refusals. Jaime loitered purposefully beside the entrance to her bower, leaning casually against the wall and raising his eyebrows suggestively.

Brienne’s mood was sombre, the gravity of the task ahead settling upon her broad shoulders.

_If anyone can handle the responsibility, it’s my swordswench. She is the mightiest woman I have ever known. _

“We need our rest.” Her rich voice was low, careful not to disturb the surrounding rooms. “Already it is nearly dawn and this shall be our last night with the comforts of a bed.”

She turned her doorknob as Jaime surrendered reluctantly. His figure drooped despondently but he knew sleep was of too greater import to argue. He took a step lightly away, booted footfalls muffled by the carpet. “May I ask for a goodnight kis-“

The Maid of Tarth stood with her door open, her large frame pressed flush against the woodgrain to make room. The dim interior of her chamber calling to him invitingly. She peered at him from beneath her lashes, her endless pools of blue hopeful yet timid in the sconce light.

“Are you coming?”

He beamed, nodding zealously.

“You know my terms –“ Brienne was strict, always a stickler for the rules. “For **sleep** My Lord. We both require it.”

“The Maiden herself will be moved by my exemplary behaviour.” He promised in his overtly dramatic style, wandering into the darkened room before she could change her mind. He eyed the bed and blankets, calling to him welcomingly, then after a brief assessment realised his own quandary. “But I’m going to need you to undress me.”

The key made its metallic clink in the lock, the mechanisms jamming and barring out the chaos for the next few hours at least. Brienne folded her arms as she turned around.

“Jaime! You were not in here two seconds when…”

He lifted his sling, shrugging and her mouth made an oval.

“Oh – it slipped my mind. I apologise.”

The lion winked. “Less pardons more stripping.”

With adroit fingers she peeled off his outer layers, Jaime enjoying watching and providing commentary. “It must be different for you, unclothing me when I’m fully conscious…. A pleasant change of pace wouldn’t you agree?”

“Noisier I will grant you.” She grunted as she helped pull off his boots, whilst Jaime bit his lip to prevent from highlighting her position on her knees in front of him.

_Of that jape, I do not think the Maiden would approve…._

“There.” Tossing his footwear aside Brienne rolled back the covers. “Climb in. The hours of darkness are escaping us by the moment. Soon the window for shut eye will be at an end.”

She blew out the candles as Jaime settled upon his back. His green eyes slowly adapting to the dim, just enough to make out her silhouette in the dark, divesting herself of her own outer garments.

_She truly means to test me… she thought by dousing the lights, her movements would be masked. But it just makes her every movement more seductive…_

He pawed awkwardly at the bulge in his pants, pushing down the beginning stirrings of his hardness and trying valiantly to summon disenchanting thoughts as she clambered into the vacant space next to him.

“Are you alright?” Her tone was wary.

“I will be. Just imagining Aunt Genna in a compromising position with her weasel husband.”

“Does that work?”

“Gods – I hope so.”

He felt her nuzzle into the crook of his neck, taking great efforts to fold her large frame to fit the way a finer lady would naturally. When she exhaled, the warmth of her flittered across the apple of his throat and he felt it reverberate down to his sternum.

“Is this counterproductive?” Her voice was so small when she addressed the developments between them. A hale gale diminished to a thread of mist. Their interactions so precious to her she was heedful not to disrupt their rhythm, as though even the bump of her words could cease their impetus.

_My love, a herd of a thousand rampaging aurochs could not knock us from this trajectory, we have been aiming towards each other’s arm for years, this is what is meant to be. _

“Probably.” He replied with earnest, the nearness of her continuing to charge his system, from the tips of his hair fibres to the region of his loins. “But don’t stop.”

Brienne draped an arm across his ribcage, lacing her fingers with his bound hand and resting it upon his chest.

“Your wrist is troubling me.” She confided. “Everything is moving more swiftly now… what if it does not heal in time? I have cost you the only sword arm you had left. What if your grip is weakened and cannot hold? What if you die because of me…”

Her breath hitched and he quickly spoke in reassurance. 

“The Maester said it would take no more than a week to heal. It will be sound in time for the great war.” He pecked the top of her head. “Besides, I can see the plus side of all this. On the road you will have to stay with me. I cannot fend for myself.” He furrowed his brow in the dark. “Come to think of it – I dread when I need to piss.”

Then she laughed, the rare jewel of a sound treacly to his ears as he wrapped his right arm snugly around her.

Together they stared at the faint outline of their joined digits, creating a neverending link of connection and solidarity. Jaime smiled to himself as his eyelids began to close, capitulating to the inevitability of their union.

_We struggled against it for so long, inhibited by our foolish fears. What we could have had sooner… what we can have still. It is worth fighting for and I will battle royal for it - with everything within me. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt Compliance:
> 
> Tread left by the wights in the snow  
Theme of treading carefully with their new relationship


	24. Treasure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne's POV

Brienne trudged through knee deep snow, clasping a steaming flagon in one hand and a bowl of soup in the other. She lifted her legs high – glad for once of her unusual height, as it made the trek just that bit easier.

The other day she had spotted a younger lad, slight of frame and yet to thicken out, become wedged in the drifts which reached his thighs. Two soldiers had to wriggle him loose whilst the camp watched on and she had empathised with the boy as the flames of his embarrassment may just have been enough to melt the snow and set him free. Beside her Jaime guffawed with laughter, causing her to shoot him a look of stern warning. The self-consciousness of the squire reminded her of Podrick and the stabs of pain caused by his absence caught her off guard. The Warrior woman had been of half a mind to see the lad moved to her ranks until Jaime had spoken sense to her.

“And when you have to set his corpse alight? Or worse – slay him for a second time? It is best if we do not enlist those which rouse nostalgia Brienne. Believe me – detachment is key.”

It was one of the many pearls of wisdom he imparted and in this instance she was willing to take it on board. When they squabbled or when Jaime played the jackanapes it was easy to forget that he was in fact much older and far more sagacious in these situations than she.

For the past eleven evenings when the army made camp, the Lady of Tarth attended mandatory war council meetings whilst Jaime retired to his tent to keep out of sight. Their shelters were erected side by side and more often than not, he had slipped beneath the makeshift walls and was waiting for her when she returned.

The first few meetings had been productive but now the nightly occurrence grew taxing – a tiresome display of puffed up cockerels squawking loudly and trying to garner favour with Lord Arryn through appearing knowledgeable. She achieved far more clarity in her discussions with Jaime afterwards. The truth was – they were unprepared and utterly underqualified to meet an enemy in the field whom they had never faced before and did not fully grasp.

The instructions relayed by Jon Snow from the North were simple and unelaborated.

'Burn the undead, burn your dead and fight until they stop coming.' 

The only other useful information was that Dragonglass and Valyrian steel seemed effective in vanquishing their General’s known as ‘White Walkers' or 'Others’ and a shipment of the esoteric weaponry forged from this substance would be awaiting them at the ruins.

Brienne fully intended to continue utilising Oathkeeper, preferring the weight of metal in her hand.

“Jaime…” She shouldered through the flap of her small pavilion, anticipating his presence. Sure as day, he manifested, holding the fabric aloft to allow her to enter before dropping it to give them privacy. “…here. Take this before it goes cold.”

Brienne offered him the bowl of soup, smiling to see him with use of his left hand again. He still wore wrappings around the wrist, supporting the ligaments whilst they recovered but it had stopped paining him and his movements were becoming smoother.

“I also got you this…” Placing the mulled wine upon the small table she shrugged. “They served it with dinner in the Commanders’ Tent and you know I don’t imbibe. I took it for you.”

“Thank you My Lady.” He raised his cup in mock toast – much preferring the liquor to the fare. “To your health.”

“I accept your tribute with gratitude – but I still expect you to finish your soup.”

Seating herself upon the edge of the pallet, she unbuckled her armour as he ate. Working out the crick in her neck and stretching her muscles.

“How did it go?” He enquired between spoonfuls. She cringed at the way his bowl teetered precariously upon his knee. The only way he could balance it and use the utensil.

_I pray it doesn’t spill… he gets so sensitive about it. _

“The usual.” Casting her spaulders aside, she began working on the vambrace. “The only real development is they expect us to reach Lakely tomorrow if the weather favours or the day after if we are met with extremes which slow our procession.” She breathed out heavily through her nose as her mouth formed a thin line. “They are nearly upon us. There can be no delaying it now.”

Placing the empty bowl aside, Jaime walked over to her, his one hand aiding to shed the remainders of her armour.

Once she was freed, he sank back into her furs, holding out both arms.

“Will you resist my love? Or has the bleak narrowing of our existence proved compelling enough to make exceptions?”

She toyed with the edge of the blanket, a plethora of conflicting elements duelling for dominance in her mind before she finally succumbed and delivered herself into his waiting embrace. Rubbing her cheek against his chest, teasing open the ties of his linen nightshirt to hear his beating heart.

In the flurry of travelling and strategizing, she and Jaime had little time to revisit the sentiments they had expressed the night of Sansa’s wedding. And as the days ticked by, her doubts had slowly crept back in.

Jaime had professed his love but he had not mounted her. Put his body in line with his feelings and claimed her as his own.

At first she had been pleased, his gallantry and respect for her station keeping him restrained; but as time wore on this very action of regard became the weapon of choice her brain used to torment.

_He does not desire you – he can lie in your bed and resist your body for he does not find it attractive. _

_You are too manly, too hulking. You have no teats for him to squeeze and when you lie on top of him, his ribs are likely to concave. _

She had stared at herself as she bathed, giving her physique a bitter scrutiny, finding herself wanting in every measure.

_Jaime needs a woman – not a flecked cow with scars in place of softness or callouses instead of manicures. Cheeks more gnarly than bark and thighs as thick as trunks. _

_Why would he want to fuck you? He was just being kind when he said otherwise… _

That night she had made the tent pitch black, hiding beneath the cover of darkness so he would not be offended should he wish to partake. But she was unresponsive to his nuzzling, so he drifted off to sleep. 

It was then more insecurities surfaced, inner demons masked as realisations, causing arrythmia in her chest as her heart strings solidified with twisted truths more gelid than ice.

_Even if desperation made him so inclined – he still would be indisposed. _

_If he deflowers you, honour compels him to marry you and perhaps the reason why he deprives himself of carnal release is because he does not want that obligation. _

“You are distant.” Jaime had observed that night.

“I am right here.” She answered irritably. “How can you mistake me as far?”

His chiselled jaw had set in a grim line. “Tell me we have not gone backwards. I could swear we were closer before I sampled your lips.”

“That sounds regretful.” Squaring her shoulders she had hit him head on. “Do you mourn for a time when we were less complicated Ser? If so say and I shall reverse the incident in our history and we need not address it again.” Her face had not betrayed how her eyes were sore from holding back tears as Jaime glared her unwaveringly down.

“There are complexities in you My Lady which I may never decipher.” He spat the words, his temper igniting. “I cannot fathom why you would seek to sabotage the development which took us years. I thought it was what you wanted?”

“So you were giving me what you believed would please me? That reads somewhat akin to pity.”

“Good Gods woman you are infuriating!” He had dragged his left hand through his golden mane. “I must tell you Brienne that I have spent my life playing games. Cat and mouse. Catch and kiss. Yes meaning no or no meaning yes. Never being sure, never knowing where I stood - only to have it all disintegrate and find out I was wrong. I am tired of artifice and wiles. I want something tangible -real - and that is what I thought I had with you.” His cat like eyes glinted with the fury of a wildfire fuelled by hurt. His voice dropping to a deadly whisper. “You realise you never said it back?”

It had taken her a beat to ascertain what he was implying. “Yes I did.”

“No – you didn’t.” He shook his head sadly. “You said there wasn’t a part of me that you didn’t adore but that was as close as you came. Yet I declared my love for you twice. I am here every night, listening to you, supporting you – trying to instigate affection. And it may seem foolish that I am so persistent. Mayhaps once again I am catering to my own misapprehensions and tonight you would prefer if I withdrew to my own tent and allowed a chasm to once again form between us.”

He stepped closer and she dug deep not to wither under the potency of his stare. “But I have faith in knowing you – who you are at your core.” His fingertips brushed over her chest, her heartbeat quavering beneath his touch. “And I believe you and I are perfectly suited. For in your own ways you are just as fucked up and damaged as I am. If I am wrong – correct me, you’ve never hesitated to before…”

He paused, giving her the opportunity to intercede. But she stood rivetted to the spot, glassy eyed yet defiant.

“So I am going to bed – which happens to be _your_ bed and we will sleep side by side as is our attachment. Then tomorrow, we will start afresh.” Stretching up he planted a chaste kiss on her lips. “Because I love you and no amount of diffidence from you is going to change that.”

She had stood in the same place in the centre of her tent until long after he had fallen asleep. The fiends of her hang-ups in full scale conflict with her trust in Jaime’s veracity. Eventually her all-encompassing love for him won out and she crawled under the furs beside him. Stilling her shaking hand by placing it against his hip.

Now with his pulse hammering against her ear, her mangled cheek pressed flush against the heat of his skin and the soft down of his golden chest hair tickling the base of her nose there was not an inch between them – and it was how she longed to remain.

“I love you.” She admitted it to the laces of his nightshirt, the curve of his breastbone, the weave of the ivory material, her deep abraded octaves ricocheting off his skin, reverberating and resettling over her like a veil of constancy.

Beneath her Jaime hummed happily, the vibrations rumbling from their deep origins within his epicentre. The tremors reverberating into her own soul.

“Remember this moment Brienne.” His honeyed tones floated to her as he stroked her hair. “When the ice wind bites and the monsters are relentless. When hope is lost or worse still we are lost to each other….” His timbre became strangulated as he kissed her forehead and cleared his throat.

“That this fragment of time was ours. You and I. Wholly and solely one another’s.” Tilting her chin upwards, he let cerulean meet emerald. “Treasure it as I will. Call upon it, make it a haven. The solace for your tattered spirit. I am aware that you struggle to accept my feelings for you but know that for my last nights on this earth, there is no one I would rather be with. And I intend to be bound to your side for however long we have left.”

“I will.” She avowed and he knew how seriously she upheld oaths.

“And take care in these battles to come. For as we become overrun with duties and organising, swept up in the hype of coming conflict, I may forget to say what I had planned. So I will tell you now - that to me, you - Brienne of Tarth - are irreplaceable.”

It felt an age since they had first kissed, the detours of life and mental blockades making little over a week seem to span years. But now the pull was irresistible, he a lodestone of attraction, pulling her into his orbit.

It was Brienne who slunk up his chest, feeling the fabric of his nightshirt slipping and sliding beneath her hands. It was she who lowered her lips to his, tips of noses clumsily bumping as she learnt her angles of approach. And it was she who deepened the kiss, cupping his chin and jaw in her giant hand, relishing the rasp of his beard against the sides of her mouth and the friction of his hips rocking in tandem with hers.

_Despoiling may not be on the agenda but exquisite tensity is… _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry the insecurities had to surface again but years of trauma unfortunately do not vanish overnight!  
Good thing Jaime loves and understands his woman.
> 
> Prompt Compliance:
> 
> "Treasure it as I will"  
Also - Jaime's ultimate treasure is Brienne and the love they share <3


	25. Ghost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime's POV  
The Long Night Pt 1

_Silence in sound. _

Jaime tapped his gloved hand against his armoured thigh as he pondered that concept. His thoughts running rampant in the anxiety of waiting. The two terms seemed mutually exclusive but in this frozen perdition they co-existed with perfect synchrony.

The netherworld of ice and snow was quiet and yet abundant with noise. The scraping of leather and metal, the snap of cloaks in the wind, the odd nervous cough and uneasy whisper.

Each time a powerful gale screeched between the crumbled stones and dilapidated pillars the entire company tensed – wondering if its eerie scream was heralding the arrival of the undead.

“It sounds like ghosts.” He muttered to the wench behind him. Her presence emanating the only light and heat in this feral landscape. The amount was barely perceptible but still it was there - lending him backbone and fortitude.

_She is nothing short of miraculous._

“I keep being reminded of my dream….”

“You’ve mentioned it before.” Brienne moved next to him, her monotoned voice leaving vapour in the night air. “You never told me exactly what happened.”

“Perhaps I didn’t want to relive it. There are too many spectres who would gladly claim my soul I’m afraid.”

“Well they will have to get through me.”

Against all odds they exchanged small smiles and Jaime moved closer to rub foreheads and noses with his mate. Inhaling her scent before his nostrils filled with rot and soot. Ensnaring in his mind the image of her widened pupils, flake dusted lashes, ice crystals clinging to her flaxen hair like jewels in a crown. He longed to kiss her, unite their lips one last time but alas both were so chapped and bitten by cold that once joined they may well lose a layer of skin when they needed to part again.

“I love you woman.”

His own breath puffed white mist with the confession, giving vision to his feelings with its physical presence.

Around them he heard the troops clear their throats or shift in place, being made uncomfortable by the man openly adoring their commander.

_Let them see, I do not give a toss. We will all be dead soon anyhow and of the many regrets in my life – spending my final seconds giving affection to the owner of my heart will not be one of them. _

He turned his head to the sky, disorientated by the preternatural absence of the day. The pitch endless black which blotted out the sun, devoid of stars or moon, as if mankind was to be deprived of even their soothing familiarity. The whole world plunged into ceaseless ink, murky and foreboding.

_The Long Night. _

Jaime shivered and not from the winter chill. _Will we ever see the dawn again? _

“It’s dark wench.” He tried to keep the unnerved edge from his voice. Knowing he should be the man reassuring her.

But Brienne perceived his transparency as if his flesh were glass. _I can hide nothing from her. _

“Be heartened Ser Jaime – it is always darkest before the morn.”

She reached for his stump, giving it a squeeze through its woollen sock. He had bound it against the cold, the weave of the knitted sleeve loose enough that he could still feel the solid grip of Brienne’s fingers through the gaps.

Since the night she provided thermal heat with her body, nursing him from the brink, Jaime had never felt inclined to begin wearing his golden prosthetic again. The hand a false imitation, a superficial façade. Such a pompous display was Cersei’s mindset, imposed upon him through years of conditioning, until he had been convinced it was his own. A fixture of his former life where he had to cover up his imperfections, afflicted with the viewpoint that one who readily displayed his blemishes and defects was undeserving of love.

But in fact the opposite was true. His stump a symbol of rebirth and selfless devotion. What he was willing to give for the woman beside him and how she was willing to embrace him with all his crippling – interior and exterior.

_One handed I am Brienne’s – I shall never bemoan the loss of it again._

“You’re right you know.” He nodded. “The heavens are never blacker than when sunrise is on its way.” It had also proven true in his life. “Rather poetic of you…how did you come to think of it?”

Her smile was almost sly. “It’s my house words.” She gave him a sideways glance. “In all these years you’ve never asked me.”

“Well I’m asking now.” His armour-clad shoulder clinked against hers as he nudged her playfully. Enjoying the respite and distraction.

“Most people assume the Evenstar is bright. Easily visible to the naked eye – but they are mistaken.” Brienne was glad to speak of it, unimaginably managing to stand a little taller and he shone with a covetous pride that he called her his own. “It only appears after the setting of the moon, when the other stars fade and the sky becomes a blanket of dark velvet. Only then can you find the Evenstar, a faint beacon upon the horizon to lead the sun in its journey and bring light back into the world.”

Jaime had never wanted to kiss her more than he did in that moment.

“I believe it.” Emotion formed a lump in his throat. “For you alone brought light back into mine.”

She looked away modestly, examining the way the snow landed upon the tips of her boots. “Our sigil depicts the moment, the way our star rises betwixt the midnight moon and the first rays…”

A horn cut clear through the night and they tensed. Brienne drew Oathkeeper and Jaime’s hand flew instinctively to his side, unsheathing Widow’s Wail.

The din of the battle started in the distance down the hillside, faded, muffled; but then the distinct sounds of combat began to hit them in waves.

Growing gradually louder – nearer.

Torches were lit all around them, spaced barely a few feet apart. A wall of flames to aid them, splitting the interminable darkness.

_But it also tells them right where we are…._

His first glimpse of a reanimated corpse was a bewildering experience. A mixture of terror and disbelief as they shambled from the shadows, puppets of decay and inhumanity, with the all the movement but none of the warmth.

Jaime was used to looking in a man’s eyes as he ran them through. Knew the sights and smells of war. Had to silence the voices in his head asking questions about the life he had just guttered out.

But this was completely foreign. Their sockets vacant and aloof. All they knew was killing. No mercy, no questions, no remorse.

Just to gut, maim and slaughter, adding more recruits to their ghoulish army.

Before he knew it, he was swinging his Valyrian steel wildly, slashing left and right. Severing disintegrating sinew from arms reduced to pure bone. Snatching respite for the nanosecond the Squires darted methodically in, their role epitomized in the whoosh of amber flames as downed cadavers were further eradicated, their mutilated extremities still twitching with life even when sliced from their hosts. 

His senses never stopped listening to Brienne at his back, clocking every grunt and moan she produced, measuring their pitch and urgency, bolstered by each sound letting him know she was safe.

The wights came at them like rabid wild animals, they used the same primal methods. Those without weapons employed teeth and claw-like nails to tear thriving bodies to pieces. Sprays of blood splattering the snow as the gales were drowned out by the excruciating bellows of dying men. 

_Not like that… I don’t want us to end like that…. What could be worse?_

But then their generals – the Walkers - raised their arms, emerging from cyclonic snowstorms like demons from a void. Such an innocuous gesture, the lifting of hands - but with it fallen men, formerly soldiers of the Vale, scrabbled to their feet with jerking movements. Limbs snapping nauseatingly, frozen in the odd angles as they were when they perished.

Their former comrades turned on the forces of the living, allegiance and will forgotten. Ice blue eyes denoting a hollow, unbeknownst where their souls now resided. It shook him to the core, the dread of such a heinous concept and as he fought his allies turned enemies it was her that he feared for.

_Not to her… I would die. I would simply lie down and let them have me. I cannot see her ripped from me, I will not see her changed…._

Hysterics had him in their grips as he wheeled about to face his swordswench – needing to see, needing to know she was still the embodiment of warm-blooded excellence that he worshipped.

Brienne battled tirelessly, Oathkeeper swinging in fatal arcs, driven by her vigorous arms. Jaime hacked at the undead, eliminating them from the trail to her immediate vicinity, his stamina renewed with his persistence to reach her. Desperate to behold her face, to be positive his beloved was alright.

Remarkably in the mayhem of carnage and nihility he managed to lock onto her eyes. Her blue a steady gauge of the determination in her soul. Her sapphires were ablaze, a warrior woman who would never relent, the torches and pyres reflected in their supreme depths as she sounded her battlecry; the flames licking and twisting, making her iris’ come alive. Every few seconds the Valyrian blade would pause in front of her face as she resumed position, in the faint light its red ripples leeched away to hold only shiny blackness. The echo like a mirror, perfectly projecting the inferno of her spirit.

And then it all made sense….

_The ghosts were the undead. _

_The cave the cloak of darkness. _

_My attraction to her the new perception of a woman’s shape. _

_When all other light is gone, she alone fights back the darkness…_

_Her sword is alive with blue fire…._

_It was all predetermined…._

_This was our destiny._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I took some liberties with this chapter, adding to canon because why not? LOL  
It's the first time I have and I must admit I enjoyed it. :)
> 
> Prompt Compliance:  
"Sounds like ghosts"  
The ghosts in Jaime's Weirwood Dream


	26. Ancient

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne's POV  
The Long Night Pt 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please forgive these battle chapters!  
I realised I was on a track to put forward a storyline which could work as a continuation of book canon.  
Unfortunately that means I had to deal with the Long Night - which I do believe Jaime & Brienne will play a part in.  
Hence the reference to the Weirwood dream in the previous chapter.  
And I couldn't rush through it as it should be the battle to end all battles. 
> 
> Fear not - your scheduled fluff will recommence in due course! LOL :)  
PS. Thank you for every reader and every comment - they have been the thing that kept me going when the Wight Walkers closed in. <3

Through the slaughter Jaime gaped at her wordlessly, suspended in a transient place that only he could see. She leapt forward, cleaving a wight in half who approached him from behind.

“Keep fighting!” Brienne shouted in his face. “Whatever has you in its grips, snap out of it!”

The flames of the burning carcasses were so close sweat prickled upon her forehead, the elements changing between extremes in only a few strides. In some locations blasts of ice suffocated the torches, guttering them out as a White Walker loomed closer. In other spots the dead blanketed the snow so thickly, the ground became a burning carpet as they were cremated.

“We need to move!” She bashed his metal plated shoulder. “NOW!”

“Yes Commander.” The spark returned to his eyes, the cognizance streaming back.

She seized him by the swordbelt and yanked him forward, bringing movement to his legs.

Blindly they trudged through swirling snowfall and billowing smoke. Choking their lungs with ash and cold.

Brienne coughed as she lashed out systematically with her blade, clearing a path directly in front of them.

The only sources of light were the conflagration of masses of corpses, the orange incandescence penetrating the smog for fleeting interludes. Her eyes struggled to make the rapid adjustments and discern the menacing shadows which raced for them, the limited visibility seeming to make them materialise from thin air.

When she turned left, a corpse came screeching from the right, the propulsion of his aimed intent causing him to run straight into the lethal edge of Widow’s Wail.

Jaime kicked at the scrabbling arms snatching at her ankles, whilst she decapitated another fleshier assailant with unerring precision.

“Wench!” He wheezed as he called to her, the soot carried upon the gales robbing him of his volume. “Come!”

He gestured ahead, towards something completely hidden from her view, but she did not hesitate to follow.

_I trust him with my life._

Low flames licked at her greaves as they sprinted across a simmering warzone, bones crunching sickeningly beneath her boots as the odd lacerated hand rose weakly in one final attempt to hinder their progress.

Then up a slight incline and into the darkness, a snap freeze of plummeting temperature and almost tornadic blizzard conditions.

“Jaime!” She shouted. “What are we aiming for?”

“Him!” He gestured with his stump towards a White Walker, watching the decimation with unfeeling blue eyes, shielded from notice by the crumbling ruins and his generated vortex of ice.

His silence more disquieting than the wights’ eldritch shrieks as he ruthlessly oversaw the mayhem.

_How many years has this been planned? _

She shuddered to wonder. The tales of the Long Night as old as time itself. Countless eons unfolding since history’s warning had been reduced to mere prophecy and that adage in turn, diminished to myth.

_All those centuries they were waiting, plotting…. An ancient threat lying dormant in wait for the opportunity to strike. _

_Our civilisation is no more than an inconvenience to them, mankind a floundering rebellion to be crushed…_

She ducked behind a towering pillar, whilst Jaime crouched against a fallen chunk of stone, the snow-capped relics providing shelter and the backdrop for their ambush.

Moving in unison they clenched their swords in front of them, Valyrian steel the antidote to the Other’s cold, infinite brutality.

She read Jaime’s lips as best she could in the dim. ‘We only get one chance.’

He lifted a single finger from the hilt of Widow’s Wail.

Their adversary of ice oblivious, removing his gnarled hands from the pommel of his crystalline sword, in preparation to raise them again and command the fallen to stand.

_We cannot let that happen…_

As if reading her mind Jaime surged forward, Valyrian Steel held aloft.

The Other moved with the fluid precision of a seasoned swordsmen, drawing his glassy blade without palaver, unperturbed by the insignificant mortal who sought the right of challenge. Jaime danced backwards, feigning instead of parrying. The ancient weapon falling just to the side of its mark.

_He does not want him to know what we are armed with…_

Leading him in a concentric dance, Jaime turned the Walker around, forcing him to follow. The impassive creature cross-stepping to stalk after his prey.

Brienne clenched the muscles in her thighs, bending slightly at the knee.

The lumbering outlines of wights manifested in her peripheral vision, summoned by a silent call to defend their archaic master. Decrepit masses completely surrounded them, fencing them in, ensuring there could be no retreat.

_Wait…_

She schooled herself in patience, cloaking herself in discipline.

Her womanly instincts compelling her to break position and protect the man she loved.

_Just a few paces more…_

The Walker began to close in, tiring of the game. His back to her as he lunged for Jaime, her golden lion the lone focus of his cold-heart.

** _Now!_ **

Bounding forth she drove Oathkeeper between the Other’s shoulderblades, pushing all her strength into the blow until the tip of the sword exploded from the opposite side of his chest. The ancient one howled like an animal in pain as it disintegrated, his skeleton dissolving in a flux of melt.

Simultaneously his minions collapsed into the snow. Robbed of whatever malevolent sorcery had allowed them to defy the laws of life and death.

“Well done my love…” Jaime panted, surveying the scene. Processing how close they had just come to losing. “One down – a few hundred to go.”

Brienne was exhausted, worn down by fatigue and the constant fear of losing her mate. It dragged upon her, whittling away at her endurance, the emotional strain more tiring than the physical. “Will this night ever end?” Her voice was raspy, grating to even her own ears.

Jaime sighed, his body sagging as they both glimpsed a replacement contingent of undead making their way towards them. “I hope we live to find out.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt Compliance:
> 
> An ancient threat  
Ancient weapon  
Ancient One
> 
> BONUS ROUND! It all takes place amongst ruins. :D


	27. Dizzy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime's POV  
The Long Night Pt 3

He felt disconnected from his arm, the agony too great, the weight too much.

He knew his thrusts grew sloppier, the accuracy draining away along with his resilience.

To his left Brienne tossed Oathkeeper from her right arm to her left, shaking out her fingers and giving her sword hand some relief.

Her face was coated with ash and blood, disguising her scars and camouflaging her in the residue of a thousand victories. Like a tribal warrior decorated in the trophies wrested from her downed foes. The only thing clearing a trail to disclose her ivory complexion beneath were the tracks of errant tears, leaking from her eyes.

_She knows… _The truth was harrowing. _She knows I cannot hold on much longer…._

His stump was all but useless, the vambrace effective in blocking his enemies and little more. The armour dented and punctured in places by the innumerable assaults which it had stood against. Once more he threw it into the fray, undead teeth clamping down against the metal as he thrust Widow’s Wail into the creature’s guts, spilling foul corruption and intestines over the snow. But in the time it took to down one, three more had taken its place, advancing upon him with bloodthirsty zeal, the empty pits in their rotting faces mocking.

_You will be one of us soon._

Jaime’s vision blurred with the dizzying monotony, a cyclic repetition of buffer and kill with no end in sight. His muscles were sluggish, his reactions slowing. He toppled backwards as Brienne burst in front of him, returning her sword to her lead hand and eradicating the wights in quick succession, effectively saving his life.

“Brienne!” He had to holler to be heard but he hoped the tenderness he intended overwhelmed the harshness of his volume. “You cannot keep up this pace… you must look after yourself. You have to let me fend on my own…. You have to let me go.”

“NO!” Her scream was anguish as she split a skeletal being clean in two. “I will NOT.”

“You will die too… for a cause you cannot win. It is senseless sacrifice.”

“It is LOVE!” Only Brienne could state sentiment with such aggression. She was stubborn to the end and he could not disagree, as his chest filled with his own debilitating emotions. This final argument between them a duel of affection, both grappling to have the other outlive them.

“Pig-headed woman, I won’t watch you die for me!” He shouted.

“Nor will I stand idle whilst you are taken from my life!” She countered.

They were bellowing in a battlefield, utterly absurd yet completely them. Apocalyptic annihilation erupting all around, but they stood butting heads. Arms flinging out to the side to catch corpses upon their swords as their bout of wills sustained them.

“You are being impossible!”

“And you are suicidal! I have never accepted your defeatist attitude from you before Jaime and I will be damned if I allow it now!”

“I’m done Brienne but you are just beginning. Don’t you want to see Tarth again?! Your Father?! Have a future?!” As he pleaded she continued to save him, interceding where he faltered and picking up his slack.

“Not without YOU!”

An unrecognisable cry made the entire mountainside rumble, the ground quivering with its deafening shrillness as they were hit with thermal wind. He did not know what manner of monster could produce such a sonic boom, but he did not intend staring slack-jawed at the sky to find out. Jaime’s first instinct was to throw himself over Brienne, the momentum sending them sprawling into a deep snowdrift. He curled himself over her protectively, tucking his head and clinging on for dear life as blistering heat washed over his back and eroded away their shield layers of white powder.

He smelt the singe of his own hair as he held tight, ready for the end and pleasantly surprised when it didn’t come.

“What was that?” His wench’s voice was small, for once the young woman and not the brave warrior.

He swiped away the salt rivulets upon her cheeks, simply smudging the grime rather than improving upon it.

“I have no idea.” He confided.

Sitting up they surveyed the battlefield, their breath hitching in their throat.

The ground was strewn with charred bodies, where mere moments ago reanimated corpses had pressed in upon them. In the distance a great dragon circled above, the silhouette of a rider upon its back. The beast’s green and gold scales glinting as it poured flame over the swarms of wights. With each breath it reduced their hordes to cinders, roaring its intimidating might between lungfuls, turning the tides of futility into felicity and bathing the area in artificial orange daylight.

Humans dove for the safety of the lakes, submerging themselves in water to spare them from the fire’s indiscriminate extermination. Whilst the burning undead scattered themselves upon the slopes like macabre fireflies.

Then something even more fantastical occurred – the Walkers vaporised. A spontaneous deliquesce, without explanation for they remained untouched by inferno or blade. Acted upon by some unseen force, liquefying them into slurry.

A hush swept over the landscape as everywhere the survivors stood stupefied. Gawking in shock at the abrupt shift. Even the dragon hovered mid-flight, the sole sounds the rhythmic beating of its wings and the pounding within Jaime’s own ribcage.

As if in slow motion the world resumed its pace, propelled by a series of rustling thuds which amplified with each passing second. The lion did not know how to define it, foolishly he was only reminded of a game he and Tyrion had played as boys. An assembly line of wooden tiles, which one delighted in pushing over, setting off a chain reaction. The whirring was reminiscent of that noise, only in place of clacking wood it was the clatter of bones and dropped weapons. A sequential avalanche of falling, unstoppable in its momentum, as mountains upon mountains of undead bodies grew limp and flopped like discarded rags.

Jaime’s dizzy spell returned but of a different kind. Beautiful euphoric, giddy elation.

_We made it.. _

He could scare believe his own thoughts. Fearing a fevered dream in the hype of battle. That he had sent himself inside and surrendered to a madness, where he hallucinated their victory with such clarity it seemed lifelike.

“Brienne…”

She was crying openly now. Her palm covering her mouth as tears cascaded down her cheeks.

His Maiden brought her other hand to his face and he was startled to see her fingertips come away drenched as he acknowledged he was sobbing too.

“We made history…” She croaked out. “Jaime we’re alive.”

He threw his arms around her, their armour tangling and crunching with the force of their crushing embrace. And he showered the side of her head and ear with kisses, caring not a whit for the slimy coating beneath his lips.

_I will kiss her every day from now on… I swear it. _

His hand kneaded into her hair, clutching her to him with urgency, as blurry eyes saw the first beams of pink break over the horizon.

“Here comes the dawn my love.” He was hoarse and almost out of his body with exhilaration. “Our lives together can begin.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this fic I decided to leave the reason for the Walkers' defeat open.  
Presuming Jon, Dany or even Arya did pull off a miracle in the other battles.  
Another story for that parallel canon continuation which someone or GRRM may write.  
For this tale is of our Braime, the strong brave commanders whose love saw them protect each other throughout the Long Night.  
Tomorrow - our fluff recommences! Yay! <3
> 
> Prompt Compliance:  
Dizzying monotony  
Dizzy spell


	28. Tasty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne's POV

Lifting her speckled arms, Brienne drew the folds of mottled azure fabric over her head, settling it upon her broad shoulders and making her feel lighter than air, surrounded by sky. It was the one gown she owned which she felt comfortable in, the dress made to fit her measurements and a go to when the rest of her wardrobe was abhorrent.

Originally having been commissioned for its coolness and loose quality, its creation tailored to her request for ease of movement and to accommodate her hasty growth and muscles. Considered unsuitable by conventional terms, she had been restricted as to the occasions she could don it, the inflexible guidelines stating that it could never be viewed by distinguished company or worn outside the stronghold. The Lady of Tarth smiled cheekily to herself smoothing the skirt and stretching to fasten the back. She had not seen her old faithful companion in years.

Brienne was confident that when her Father had asked her to dress for her welcome home dinner - her well-worn silken shift was not what he had in mind.

The garment had definitely seen better days, having taken quite the beating of harsh, unladylike treatment from her over the years. The hem was down in one place where she had gotten her foot caught in it. The fabric contained several pulls from where she grazed against walls or snagged herself upon tree branches. The colour, which was once vivid cobalt, had been washed away to the soft blue shade it adopted today. The dye bleeding out of the weave, more obvious in some patches than in others and giving it an uneven quality. The material thinned from being scrubbed over a washboard more than any piece of clothing had in the history of Evenfall Hall.

She knew this for a fact as she had discussed it with the washerwomen once. They were exceedingly familiar with having to remove grass and dirt stains from its skirt and Lady Tarth had bribed them with coin to always ensure it was returned safely into her hands. A necessary precaution as more than once her Septa had instructed for it to be disposed of and only her pre-emptive interventions had rescued it from certain doom.

_But I want to wear it – it is me. I am home, I am alive and I have brought to my homeland the person who matters most to me in the world…._

Her exuberance at Jaime’s presence on her island was palpable, a near permanent smile transforming her usually dour expression. It was the first thing her Father had noted when she landed ashore; the spring in her step and the man at her back. And her lion was doing little to disguise his own high spirits.

Running fingers through her untameable blonde hair, Brienne flung open her door, bounding into the hall, for once without a care or concern to weigh her down.

Oh there had been conversations… heavy exchanges where her Father inspected her cheek and rambled on about the dangers she had placed herself in. She assured him that the only thing of importance was that she was here, alive and well with her ‘honoured guest’ by her side.

The Evenstar was not buying into that version of events at all.

“Brienne-“ He had arched a bushy eyebrow. “-Who is he to you?”

“Jaime.” She had responded, folding her arms, her mouth twitching. “His name is Jaime.”

Fortunately, her Father was too overjoyed by her homecoming to be bothered with interrogations. He would deny her nothing after he had fretted about her well-being for so long.

“Your letters were too infrequent.” He complained. “I went months without word – do you know how much that plagues a parent’s soul? I pray your children do not cause you the same distress one day.”

Brienne found it immensely curious that suddenly after all this time, the topic of her eventually becoming a mother had resurfaced with him.

_Coincidence? I think not. _

_More a symptom of my male companion. _

Breezing into the hall she observed the servants placing the last of the platters on the long oaken table. Her stomach grumbling hungrily as she stole a cube of cheese from the assortment.

“Daughter.” Lord Selwyn admonished her with kindness as he entered. Catching her in the act like a child with her hand in the cookie jar. “You are supposed to wait until all guests are present and seated. Were you not raised with manners?”

“Yes Father, I am sorry.” She apologised, amused by how he could reduce her to feeling the girl again, pointedly ignoring his look of dismay at her choice of outfit. 

“Well done My Lord.” Jaime’s gladdened voice set her heart to racing as he strolled into the room. Freshly clad in a leather jerkin and deep burgundy undershirt he oozed sensuality and confidence. Never losing his swagger and cavalier manner. “I have laboured for years to try and make this obstinate maid acquiesce and you manage within a matter of moments.”

“There is no trick. I am simply her sire. Brienne has no reason to be obedient to you.” The unsaid undercurrent of his comment hung thickly in the air. A challenge set between suitor and parent.

Eager to diffuse, she narrowed her sapphire eyes at Jaime, all at once triumphant and gleeful of her Father’s support.

Her man simply twitched his nose mischievously in her direction, the reaction only serving to draw attention to how his gaze swept over her body. His tongue peeking out of his mouth to lick slowly at his lower lip.

In that instant, breathing became an optional pursuit.

“Now Jaime, as you are our 'honoured guest' - I would make you feel welcome and extend to you the comforts of our home. Brienne has told me much of you in her letters over the years and I am led to believe I owe you sincerest thanks for protecting her life on numerous occasions.”

“Has she now?” His grin was buoyant. “I had no idea her Ladyship thought so highly of me as to write her Father about me.”

“I may have mentioned you in passing phrases.” Brienne waved her hand dismissively. “Once or twice.”

The hunger of her stomach was morphing into a different kind of appetite as they danced around their regard for each other in their trademark repartee.

Lord Selwyn knowingly glanced from one to the other as the staff pulled out their chairs and they took their places.

“Nevertheless I hope you find your stay hospitable – however long that turns out to be – and that this evening’s fare is to your liking.”

“I can assure you from what I see it is nothing short of delectable…” Jaime’s stare seemed to shred the flimsy fabric of her favourite dress from her form. “… and the spread looks rather tasty as well.”

Heat pooled in her lower regions as she lowered into her seat, squeezing her thighs tightly together and trying to remain composed.

They had both agreed to wrap up their business in the Vale with all due haste. Returning to the Eyrie for their official release from Lady Sansa and bidding their goodbyes. With the wounded requiring tending, the return trip was arduous and both fell into exhausted heaps every evening. Huddled inseparably close but as abstinent as the clergy.

During the long sail south, Jaime had felt queasy from the rocking, spending most his time abed and whinging like a little boy. “Big cats are not fond of seafaring.”

“We can make stops if you prefer but it will extend the duration of our voyage.”

“No, no. Let's not. I will suffer. The sooner I am on dry land again the better.” He had still managed to wink at her, even lying on his back, clutching his stomach. “What shall you do when we get there to make all this hardship worthwhile?”

“Love you completely.” She had answered, brushing his blonde locks with the back of her hand. Noticing how his tresses were shorter and slightly burnt on the ends. The smell of smoke still lingering in their cascades.

“Can you tell me what that physically entails?” He had shut his eyes. “I am need of inducement and diversion. In explicit detail if you please.”

“Well…” Walking her fingers up his chest, she leant down to whisper in the shell of his ear. “First I will bend over the bed…”

“Yes…?” His tone was excited.

“Then I may kiss you like this.” She pressed her lips to his cheek. “And say something like… ‘I’m going up on deck to assist the crew.’”

He groaned as she clomped across the wooden floorboards, leaving him to wallow.

“…trade with Pentos had been on the rise, with Winter imports were coming steadily from across the Narrow Sea to supplement our own stores.”

She blinked several times in succession, clearing the haze of memory and daydream.

Across from her, Jaime was doing an excellent job of feigning interest, whilst going out of his way to make her body ripple with anticipation. His mouth curling seductively around his forkfuls, his eyes smiling over the rim of his goblet.

“That is quite feasible My Lord.” Raised the nobleman, he knew how to keep the conversation flowing. “I can imagine the lengthy blight of ice would provide _stimulation_ to the Essosi economy.”

_He chose that word on purpose. _Feeling her skin heat, she drained her cup of cider.

“Brienne my dear, are you quite well? You look a little flushed?” Lord Selwyn’s forehead furrowed with concern. “You have travelled far daughter; I hope this hasn’t proven too much for you. Ser Jaime – does she seem in fine health to you?”

_Don’t you dare. _

The lion flashed his white teeth, scintillating in his deviousness.

“Well now that you mention it Lord Selwyn, I must say she looks quite _fevered._” He tapped his fingers on the table in mock concern. Hidden from view beneath the wood, her long leg kicked him roughly in the shin. “My Lady – is there something bothering you? Do you require assistance? You know you only have to ask and I will gladly fulfil any of your _needs._”

If her Father caught any of Jaime’s flagrant innuendos he didn’t let on. In fact – he appeared oblivious. Genuinely chuffed that there was a male paying her attention with whom she seemed to suppress the impulse to knock him into the dirt.

_Well - at least before this dinner I did._

She made a mental list of the many ways she would pay him back in the practice yard tomorrow.

“Brienne, aren’t you fortunate to have such a doting chaperone? You must have inspired great loyalty to have earnt such devotion.”

“Indeed.” Though her tongue felt thick she managed to force her reply out, smiling thinly at her mate. “How attentive you are My Lord.”

“Not at all, for you I aim to _please.” _Reaching across, he lifted her hand from the tabletop, pressing upon it an overtly showy kiss.

_I am going to hit him. Right after I kiss him. _

With Jaime looking at her like that she could barely think straight. Golden head tilted to the side, lips perfectly pouted in mock concern, a sole line creasing between his brows.

_No, first I hit him, then we kiss to make amends…_

“Lord Selwyn, if I may be so bold as to advise…” He turned his sparkling emeralds upon her Father. “For I do so, simply out of caring…” Quickly able to have the older man eating out of the palm of his hand. “What I believe your daughter requires is _bed.” _

The smallest three letter word, irreproachable in its harmlessness. Unless wielded by Jaime.

“Yes, yes. You are right.” Lord Selwyn nodded. “Exhaustion must be taking its toll. Do not feel obliged to stay my darling daughter. I want to celebrate your return but not at a detriment to your well-being.”

_If I am to engage in this two-person tournament. It will be on my choice of turf…_

Rising from her seat she pecked the Evenstar on the head. “Thank you for your understanding Father, I do think retiring is best.”

“Do not fret for a moment.” He rested his hand upon hers. “We have plenty of time to catch-up. Now off you go to your chambers whilst I get to know Jaime a little better.”

Exiting the room Brienne could only wait.

_If he wants me, he can come and claim me…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt Compliance:
> 
> "...and the spread looks rather tasty as well."


	29. Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne's POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The countdown to the end has officially begun! Only three chapters remaining (including this one) - what an adventure this has been! Just wanted to give another shout out to all the wonderful readers and commenters who have stuck with this tale from the start to where we are today. Your support has brought this fic from a passing idea, into the canon continuation I never knew it could be. Thank you from the bottom of my heart!  
Now without further ado, let the chapter commence! :)

Unseen waves crashed upon the shore, their constant rumble echoing throughout the night. A perpetual orchestra of crashing swell which had provided the leitmotif to her life’s journey from childhood to adolescence and finally entering womanhood. It was only now, upon hearing its comforting stability that she could appreciate how much she missed her island home. Too long had she been deprived of its oceanic sonata.

_Now I am returned, delivered back to the arms of my origins – matured and battered, but also wizened and grown. _

_What further bridges lie ahead of me? Which milestone is next for me to conquer? _

Brienne smiled to herself, contemplating the expanse of the heavens above. The slivered moon and spattering of stars, gleaming down upon deep water, their presence lending a friendliness to the darkness. The realms beyond her balcony were merged in singular blackness, ocean, land and sky meeting without divide, united under their nocturnal cloak. The blurred edges of these three elements, blending seamlessly, becoming a sole entity. One entering the other, without ending or beginning.

_I should like to be that way… without limits or divides from the one I love…._

“Your thoughts?” Jaime was holding her, content for once to enjoy the serenity.

He swayed rhythmically where they stood in place, her back to his front, rocking her gently in his embrace, as if claiming the dance he was never granted. It had taken some time for him to extricate himself from being plied with wine and subjected to thorough investigation by her Father but Brienne was a patient maiden.

_Many moons I have waited, solitary and bereft, I can withstand a delay as he endears himself to my kin. _

However, it was a different breed of lion who finally cracked open the door of her chambers, spilling light in an arrow straight beam across the carpets. She had called to him, asked him to snuff it again with the blockade of the wood, plunging the abode back into its caliginous state and making the constellations burn all the brighter when they did not have to compete against flame.

Picking his way around unseen obstacles, Jaime had slowly meandered onto her porch, his aura a polarising contrast to the tease in the dining hall, this incarnation introspective, thoughtful and tender.

_Whatever was said, it has summoned the romantic, banishing the lothario. _

_I mind not – I have fallen in love with all his forms. Though I do treasure these rare glimpses beneath the veneer. _

A seaside breeze riffled through their hair and clothes, nestling against her face and tossing Jaime’s blonde curls to tickle against her jaw. It still contained a slight nip but never again would she describe a fresh salt zephyr as cold – they knew all too well the cut of true chill.

“What is on your mind?” 

“Us.” She answered truthfully, their relationship the underlying theme of all her observations. “How far I’ve come, how far I have yet to travel – I refer to within myself.” Brienne explained. “I have no desire to stray far from Evenfall anytime soon.”

“Good – because I may not be welcome elsewhere.” He buried his face in her neck as she reached up to stroke the side of his face. “I am a lion displaced. My entire sense of self and belonging centres solely around you and do you know what the most intriguing part is?”

Closing her eyes and leaning into him, she let a noncommittal murmur provide her answer. Not wanting to interrupt the sweet intoxication that was his voice.

“I am the happiest I have ever been in my life.” He kissed the apple of her cheek and she sighed. “Your Father is wonderful, everything a parent is supposed to be. I enjoyed talking to him tonight very much – aside from my attempts to goad you.” He suppressed a chuckle. “From the glimpses of your home I have seen, it is idyllic. A more peaceful, tranquil place I could never contrive. And my former identity and its superficialities seem trivial by comparison – no wonder you are so levelheaded.”

“Oh so I am to get no credit? Instead we are to attribute my resilience upon my place of birth and let the ‘ghastly large rock in the narrow sea’ take the glory?”

“Well it deserves it wench.” His hand cupped her shoulder, sliding the fabric of her beloved dress as far down as the collar would allow. “It produced a spectacular woman.”

She snorted indelicately as he suckled on her collarbone, for once casting inhibitions aside and surrendering to the ripples of arousal which coursed through her bloodstream.

_I may be all the repellent things that they say, but Jaime’s opinion is the only one that counts and for some inexplicable reason, he wants me…._

“No dispute?” He sounded pleasantly surprised, turning her around so he could peer up at her in the dim. “Does this mean you believe? At long last can it be true?”

“I will never see myself as attractive Jaime, or even remotely becoming… but something about standing here in the dark….”

She looked out at the expanse beyond the walls of Evenfall, how she knew the yonder beckoned with its paradisiacal beauty. In the night there was a great equaliser, where the shallow showiness of the surface gave way to something deeper.

“…. I feel – like your woman. As if I am almost feminine, almost -” Her blushing persisted, a traitor of a habit which revelled in giving away her most impure of thoughts and she was glad for the veil of shadows.

“-desirable.”

A half step forward and his mouth was on hers, reaffirming her conclusions. Limbs twining like vines around each other’s torsos as cavorting tongues relished their interludes with a burgeoning familiarity.

_Would that natural progression be as smooth, that my maidenly nerves not fail me or leave me quaking like a leaf when it comes to giving him more fulfilling pleasure…._

His lips traversed down her neck, delivering a superb series of tantalising brushes and well-placed nibbles which made her weak at the knees. Her legs wanting to bend, her spine to arch, her hips to rise. To be rendered upon her back as she hankered to lie beneath him.

_Is this how it happens? _

Sensing her buckling, Jaime edged her towards the railing, using it to prop her up so he could continue his slow sensual ambush, his kisses extending frontward, boldly curving to her heaving chest, his outstretched hand pressed flush against the crescent of her back, subtly skimming the top of her buttocks. Brienne gasped into the night, her yearning body clinging to him as ivy to a pillar, lifting one leg to wrap it around his muscular thigh. Letting him know he was welcome to advance his suit.

“Desirable is one way to put it wench.” His stump followed the contours of her neckline, lingering longer than was necessary at the dip of her almost non-existent breasts. “I would rather say irresistible – in your innocence, in your indomitable strength and in your capacity to love me – of all people.”

Sliding his hand to her raised leg, he squeezed her through the thin blue fabric. “Do you understand me now Brienne? How I cannot possibly see you as anything but breathtaking? How my love for you eclipses all those shallow scars and irregularities, that they make you perfect to me?”

Gripping the back of his neck, she splayed her other hand upon his chest, searching for his beat beneath the layers of leather and cotton.

Now she did comprehend. It was a similar amalgamation of parts which she saw in him – combining and muddling into that fathomless unconditional emotion which the storytellers named love.

_But I cannot let him win that easily…_

“Will acceptance suffice?” She queried, annoyed that a frisky edge crept into her voice and undermined the effectiveness of her ploy. “If understanding continues to evade me?”

“I suppose it will have to.” His expression told her that he knew her game but was content to concede a round, instead inclining his head and moving in for another kiss. Each flick of his tongue eroding away the last of her misgivings, replacing trepidation with equanimity.

_He is my fate, my inevitable cede, the territory I bequeath to him my heart and …. my virtue…._

Squaring her shoulders, she looked him straight in the eyes. Always determined to display pluck in the face of a new challenge.

“Is now when we move to the bedroom?” Her speech faltered only slightly; the slip nearly imperceptible.

Jaime raised an eyebrow, scrutinising her intrepid bravado with barely masked amusement. After what seemed like eternity he chortled.

_The sound every maiden wants to hear when she has just offered her man her virginity…_

“No…” He shook his head and she tried not to let her mien disclose her jumble of confusion, umbrage, disappointment and slight relief.

Lifting a crooked finger to her cheek, he caressed her gnarled flesh with his knuckle, demonstrating only reverence and love.

“The Sept.” Jaime breathed and she visibly twitched, wondering if she had misheard.

“What?” His grin was wide, rivalling the demilune above. “I have not come this far ensuring you remain intact to compromise you now. You were right to chastise me once. You are a Lady, moreover - you are **my** Lady - and I will not treat you as anything less.”

Her mouth opened and shut wordlessly, a plethora of unasked questions and hastily drawn conclusions swirling chaotically in her mind. The head spin rotating in-sync with her thundering pulse.

_Does he mean….?_

“What I’m trying to ask you Wench, rather inarticulately…” He bit his own lip, a hint of shyness in his signature cocksure demeanour. “ …is if you’ll marry me?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt Compliance:
> 
> friendliness in the darkness  
'...but something about standing here in the dark.'


	30. Coat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime's POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am proud to announce - this is the longest chapter in the entire fic. <3

“Jaime! What?.... When?” Brienne stammered as if suddenly tongue-tied, her blue lakes larger than the God’s Eye. By contrast Jaime had never felt greater conviction in anything in his life. 

“Now.” He stomped his boot against the tiles of the balcony in emphasis. “Right now, if you agree to take me.”

“I can’t… we… Jaime…. it isn’t done.”

He huffed into the night air. _Maddening, irksome, unimaginative, adorable wench. _

“You were just about to fuck me! In my experience that isn’t a done thing either for Lords and Ladies outside of wedlock.”

“Yes.” She chewed her lips. “But… there is custom to matrimony. Certain steps that must be observed in order for it to be valid – if they are rushed or skipped –“

“Name them!” He threw his arms outwards in a grandiose sweep. “I will see them done if you consent!”

He lurched forward, sweeping her hand into his grasp. Lowering his tones and letting her know this was no jape.

_I am in earnest, my love. _

“I want you to be my wife.” Kissing her knuckles one by one, he kneaded the back of her hand with his thumb, connecting her freckles like an enigmatic puzzle, where the hidden combination could unbolt her rigidity. “Please say yes.”

Her resulting expression was guileless perplexity. “I already did!”

His gaze darted sideways as he replayed their conversation in his mind. _How can I have missed it?_

“No you didn’t! I would have rejoiced.”

“But I did, I said ‘yes.’”

“When?”

“After you pointed out the irony of my sequence. That I would lay with you before I was your wife.”

“I thought you were just agreeing with my statement?!”

“When have I ever capitulated to you that easily? I was agreeing to wed you whilst negotiating the terms.”

“That’s it!” He crushed a wild kiss to her lips whilst she stood stupefied. An imbecilic smirk plastered across his face as he laughed and groaned. “If you –“ He yanked her close. “- Aggravating, confounding woman, are not mine before the dawn I may splinter into a thousand pieces.” He laced her fingers through his own. “List your stipulations and I will abide.”

“It must be properly sanctified, in the Light of the Seven. Presided by a Septon – I will not risk such a precious thing to come under suspicion of being inauthentic.”

“Then I shall rouse the Septon…” He rubbed her nose with his. “And the Mother and the Father, and the whole damn pantheon of deities in the heavens above so they can see our vows for themselves.”

“Don’t blaspheme! The Gods have seen our deliverance from vile fates, it would not do to repay their patronage with disrespect.”

“And I will thank them later, after I have bound my soul to you in heart, mind and body…. There is the high chance we will both be singing their praises when I take you to our connubial bed.”

“Not if you don’t start taking this seriously…” She narrowed her eyes at him and his blood flared with anticipation.

“I am most solemn. Give me your next obstacle and I will find us a solution.”

“The marriage will have to be registered with the Citadel…”

“We’ll send a raven. Scrap that - we’ll send a dozen or why not the entire flock? A failsafe in case they catch cold or forget their training. The decrepit old Maesters can squint out their windows and wonder why the sky is blackened by feathered wings. But each bird carries a scroll proclaiming that the Maid of Tarth has finally made an honest man out of the Kingslayer.”

“It will NOT say that. You have no name…”

“I’ll take yours.”

“We have no embroidered coats…”

“Fine stitching does not make feeling. History does… do you still have yours from our travels?”

“Yes.” She smiled, knowing he meant the cloak she wrapped around him, the one in which she carried pears. Her mantle and his blanket, a third witness to their journey, a silent testifier to their relationship.

“What better token to bring me under your protection?”

Brienne embraced him tightly then, the emotion in her countenance evoking a squall within his heart. Where her touch was bolts of lightning, their love shook him like thunder and rain gathered in his eyes.

“You have to ask my Father…” She entreated into his ear. “…. I am his only child. His approval and blessing cannot be overlooked…”

“Come then…” He hauled her by the hand, through her chambers and to the hall. “… he can sleep whilst we revel.”

“Jaime! You cannot wake him…” Even as she objected a titter escaped her mouth, her youthfulness brought to the surface by the clandestine nature of his plans - although sensible and practical, she was not immune to the romance of it all. He stopped upon the stairwell to kiss his Maiden – to the many she may not be the fairest or the comeliest -but to him she was purity and beauty, the personification of everything righteous and kind in existence.

“I can and I will.”

He took the steps two at a time, Brienne descending at half his speed behind, shaking her head. “You do not know where his chambers are!”

“Well show me Wench!” His voice bounced off the stone walls, the happiness still prominent when the echo returned to his ears.

_I have never been so ebullient; the night never held such promise…_

Affecting a defeated air, she led the way through the winding halls of the stronghold, navigating the corridors of her formative years with well-practised efficiency.

Arriving at her Father’s door she nodded courteously to the guard, letting him know naught was amiss, before extending her arm with a flourish at the wood.

“There you have it. If you think I am going to knock for you as well, you are mistaken. But if you are hell-bent upon this lunacy then who am I to stand in your way?”

“My future wife.” He quipped, placing a cocky peck upon her lips and rapping obnoxiously upon the door.

“Who would disturb me at such an hour?” Lord Tarth’s somnolent inflection called from within, the bafflement evident in his discombobulated tones.

“It is Jaime and your daughter. Might I beg a moment of your time? It is quite urgent.”

“Of course, you had to include _me_ in this.” She hissed, eyes wide and childlike, never entirely comfortable with the notion of disturbing her sire’s slumber.

“If he knows you are involved, he will be more inclined to admit us.” The lion rationalised and as if on cue the Evenstar responded.

“Enter.”

Turning the knob Jaime sauntered into the Lord’s quarters. All the more amused to find the older man sitting up in a rather large bed, wrinkled of brow and nightshirt yet attempting to look dignified just the same.

“Yes?” He arched a bushy brow. “To what do I owe this irregular honour?

Jaime threw a glance over his shoulder to see Brienne’s silhouette looming in the open doorway. She shuffled her feet and mumbled apologies, the varying hues of her blue dress highlighting the spellbinding facets of her eyes as she stepped over the threshold.

_Now or never…_

“Lord Selwyn, I have come to your room this night to seek permission to marry your daughter Lady Brienne of Tarth. I intend to wed her this very instant if it pleases you, so I implore you to make your decision hastily. The hour of the owl is already upon us and I would have her my wife in every essence by sunrise.”

The Lord looked taken aback by his temerity but was otherwise unfazed, levelling him with an even stare. “This all seems quite hurried – where lies the urgency?”

_Honesty is unimpeachable. _

“She is quite insistent upon our coupling and I find that if I do not defile my wench, I shall surely die. Now such a cause of death for me would be rather counterclimatic given all we have been through but due to my deep respect and admiration for Brienne, I have no intention of partaking of her maidenhood without husbandly rights. We are set upon a match made with each other, so your approval is all that is required – oh and your attendance at the Sept of course. That would mean a lot to Brienne.”

Jaime expected a fury. From the horrified gasp behind him, he knew an ear-bashing from his woman was unavoidable. But shock and scrupulous truth had always been his policy.

_Why hide my motivations? They are succinct and plain. _

_I endeavour to do the right thing by both of them, yet they would be appalled by my blatant delivery? _

The Evenstar slanted to one side, peering past him to Brienne - wilting in humiliation in his shadow.

“Are you hearing this daughter?”

“Yes Father and I am sorry. I knew not what he would say.” Striding forward she whacked at Jaime angrily when he tried to take her hand. “I can only apologise but I know it cannot rectify the drivel that he just spouted.”

“Actually I found his candour quite refreshing…” Lord Tarth pushed himself up against the headboard, sitting straighter with his hands clasped in his lap. As though he were holding audience in his Great Hall rather than his bed chamber. “…and as a Father I am relieved. After the numerous innuendos over your dinner conversation I had quite presumed you had been engaging in intercourse for some time. The carriage of lovers is pronounced in both of you – I am appeased to learn otherwise.”

The lion guffawed, finding it beyond fortuitous that his earlier indecency had situated the foundations for his quest. He beamed at his betrothed as her mouth dropped open, flapping wordlessly like a fish strewn upon dry land by its own trajectory, misjudging the leap from the waves and uncertain how to navigate its way back to safer territory. Her cheeks turning the coruscating tint of a rose unfurling from its bud.

“Brienne have you accepted his proposal?” Selwyn was dogged in his pursuit of her position on the prospect. “Are his assertions of your involvement accurate? Do you want him as your lawful counterpart?”

Jaime’s mouth twitched as he watched her grapple, willing her to place aside her chagrin and let her feelings be known. He leant in close to her face, widening his leonine eyes in silent plea.

“Yes.” She responded through gritted teeth, glaring at him. “Though that was significantly easier to state _prior _to his outburst.” 

The Evenstar steepled his fingers in thought, the concentration writ across his mature features.

Taking a deep breath, it was the Lord of Tarth whom addressed Jaime next, in place of the bemused Father.

“In this case I find myself plagued by concerns of an opposite nature to the norm. When in the past I have brokered Brienne’s engagements it has disappointingly been in full knowledge that the man in question possessed little interest in her as a woman and instead came equipped to assume position as the next Evenstar. By antithesis, I look upon you – and I see a man utterly enthralled with my heir. So wrapped up in his affections for her that he overlooks the formalities and procedures to which her status is due with flagrant disregard. Who brings no alliances, no trade and certainly no political advantage for our island nor does he lend her respectability, not through title or lineage. The equivalent of uniting my daughter with a nomadic hedge knight.”

Jaime’s hopes plummeted, the jubilance of his spirit dimming with Lord Selwyn’s reprimand. In his previous life he would have brought much to the table, an unsuitably superior partner to the minor vassal house. But now he was nothing – a vagrant begging upon their doorstep, a handicapped war veteran with too large a mouth and too shallow pockets. 

“Father…” Brienne’s fingertips alighted on his stumped right arm, all at once protective and consoling. The Lord watched on in fascination.

“…Please.”

The cadence of that lone word held within a plethora of additional phrases. Beseeching yet contrite, parlous loving desperation, a provocation for him to dare deny her the choice whom her heart was set upon. “I will be dutiful, I will take up my rule, I will provide heirs and ensure the continuation of our line for generations to come…” The Lady of Tarth swore it like an oath of fealty. “…but let me have Jaime as my consort. Let me call him husband and bear his children.”

The Evenstar raised both eyebrows in his direction. “She loves you – I wondered if I would live to see the day when Brienne wears her heart so openly.” Nodding to himself he continued.

“Very well Ser Jaime – I shall give you one chance to prove your worth to my seat. Stand before me and name three things about my island which are not common knowledge and your request for marriage will have my sanction.” He raised a pointed finger in Brienne’s direction. “And you are not to aid him – I will be watching. One hint from you daughter and I shall reverse my decision as hastily as the wind on the Straits.”

“The Sapphire Isle.” Jaime blurted out. “The locals refer to it as the Sapphire Isle due to the blue of the waters. Brienne taught me the nickname but I discovered it is not well-known upon the mainland.”

“That’s one.” Lord Selwyn noted. “Two more.”

He looked over at Brienne, watching her don an impassive mask whilst her expressive eyes agonized over his task.

_I won’t fail us my love…._

“The Evenstar – not the title but the actual beacon in the sky. It is oft mistaken as bright or grand when in fact it is faint, only visible when other lights disappear. Your sigil is symbolic of this moment.”

“Well done daughter.” The older man chuckled. “You have taught him well.”

Jaime surveyed the room, his eyes coming to rest upon the Tarth coat of arms, prominently displayed upon the wall. It triggered his vein of thought.

“It is Always Darkest before the Morn.” Excitement tinged his voice. “Your house words.”

“Common knowledge.” Lord Selwyn dismissed him easily.

“No! It’s not… I only learnt it recently myself.”

“Then shame on you for not enquiring sooner or taking independent study of the noble Houses of Westeros.”

“I could never remember them all!” Jaime defended himself valiantly, grasping for another point. “You keep a wretched Septa in your employ and Ser Goodwin taught Brienne to wield a blade. You had a terrible lapse in judgment ever permitting Connington to come anywhere near your daughter and as for the geriatric! How you ever thought such could satisfy her is beyond my comprehension!”

“You’re not helping.” Brienne warned gently.

“Those are personal facts and do not pertain to the governance of Tarth.”

“I disagree – poor choices of husband for Brienne certainly does affect the future of your island, in addition to the misery you would have inflicted upon her. They were abysmal options yet now you drill me with more questions than a Maester at his exams.”

“All I asked Jaime, was for one more fact – it is not an unreasonable exercise.” The former Lannister was quickly learning the Evenstar was a patient man and the niggling nagging of his wiser internal monologue was thankful for the boon.

“Who are we descended from?” The older man probed.

“Very tall people.” The lion groused. “Giants?”

Brienne visibly shrunk in on herself, grasping the bridge of her nose. 

“What is our main export?”

“Stubborn Swordswenches.” It was not the answer Selwyn sought, but he blathered on regardless.

“Tow-headed towers of strength with dazzling blue eyes which rob a man of sleep and wits. Powerful, amazing paragons of bravery and idealism who never shirk their responsibilities or their vows.” From his peripheral vision he watched his woman, trying to summon the words to describe all that she incorporated.

“A creature so sensational she makes you re-evaluate your entire sorry quiddity….” He knew his phrasing had changed, from trying to pass off his declarations as a satisfactory rejoinder to a singular song of exaltation for his beloved.

_I do not care – he needs to hear it. To know what a marvel she is and the extent of my adulation towards her… _

“Reshaping yourself in her image and knowing you will never meet her lofty mark. But loving her entirely, until every fibre of your being is infused with her impeccability and the idea of being without her leaves you bereft, adrift in a murky sea of despair…”

The Evenstar threw back the covers, shuffling to the edge of the bed.

“Father – what are you doing?” Brienne was teary, her tones thick, steeling herself for the worst and preparing to throw herself between him and whatever wrath he had called down upon himself.

“Getting dressed.” Lord Selwyn responded, tinkling a bell to summon his manservants. “I am unquestionably going to attend my daughter’s wedding.”

<><><><><><><><> 

The Sept was swathed in candlelight, golden illumination bouncing in the stained-glass windows and in the mirror of her eyes. The Septon blinking to clear his haze as he yawned and thumbed through the Seven-Pointed Star.

Jaime threaded a sprig of wildflowers behind her ear, weaving his fingers through locks of flaxen hair as he lovingly kissed her cheek.

He had hastily collected her posy from a moonlit hillside, the tiny uncultivated blossoms appealing in their natural unkempt beauty – just like his mate. She clutched the makeshift bouquet to her bosom, as though they were the most precious of prized blooms from Highgarden. The non-uniformity of their vivid colours bursting against the faded shades of her dress.

“I will wear this – if you don’t object.” She had ducked her head as they waited in Evenfall for her Father to make ready, clearly attached to the shabby garment. For some reason it had spoken to him from the onset, upon first sight intuitively knowing that this well-worn dress was quintessentially his Brienne. Therefore; he adored her choice of bridal gown. 

“It is you.” He had smiled. “I think you are enchanting.”

In the end neither of them had changed, agreeing to take one another just as they were. Just as they had been since the beginning. Without posturing or façade. Laid bare at the altar of each other.

The Evenstar watched from the front pew, sitting aside their Maester. Dabbing his eye slyly with a handkerchief after passing his only daughter to her new Lord. 

“You may now cloak the groom and bring him under your protection.”

Brienne removed the tattered black cape from her shoulders, lifting his blonde curls from his neck as she swept him up in her wave of devotion. Her long digits working carefully as she fastened the clasp, pausing when she was done to lay her hand against his hammering heart. 

“I take you Jaime to be my Lord and Husband.”

Replicating the gesture in parallel, enjoying their private personalisation to the structure, he reached over so their arms crossed and flattened his own palm to her chest.

“And I take you Brienne to be my Lady and Wife.” 

“We stand here in the sight of Gods and men to witness the union of man and wife. One flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever.”

Jaime took her hand in his own, felt the vibrations of her timorous tremor, reassured her with the movement of his lips as the Septon bound their wrists.

‘I love you.’

“Let it be known that Lady Brienne of House Tarth and Ser Jaime are one heart, one flesh, one soul. Cursed be he who would seek to tear them asunder."

Turning to their two guests the Septon announced. "In the sight of the Seven, I hereby seal these two souls, binding them as one for eternity.”

The ribbon fell away but their connection remained as the lion gazed adoringly at their conjoined flesh, glorious freckled alabaster clutching against his fingers.

But his lungs were pillaged of air when she took his stump in her other hand, cradling it as though it were her most cherished possession.

“Look upon each other and say the words.”

Jaime had never been more ready for anything in his life.

“Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger –“ They met each other breath for breath, syllable for syllable. Synchronising to make a perfect symmetry. As precise in ceremony as they were with swords.

“I am hers and she is mine…”

“I am his and he is mine…”

Their resonance lilted with their elation, swearing themselves to their lives together.

“From this day until the end of my days.”

He did not require prompting, hesitating not a moment to deliver his final line.

“With this kiss, I pledge my love.”

Jaime almost toppled her with the force of his enthusiasm, his strong wench pushing back against his mouth just in time to keep them standing.

She laughed against his beard even as he tasted salt tears upon her lips, working their way from her eyes to his tongue. He devoured her emotions along with his own, supping upon the overflow of feeling, running over from azure waterfalls of bliss and disbelief.

“I have a wife.” He cuddled into her neck, as she held him close. Both delirious with happiness and the foreign concept of dreams coming true.

Uttering one more promise whilst they stood upon this holy ground. “I am going to love you infinitely.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt Compliance:
> 
> "We have no embroidered coats..."  
Tarth Coat of Arms


	31. Ride

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne's POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The following chapter is a bit NSFW ;)

The transparent curtains billowed like the sails of a galleon, caught in an updraft. Their thin fabric whipping in the breeze which filtered in from the sea. The decorative veils meant to obscure but not block the flow of air into her chambers – that was the job of the heavy tapestries which hung, restrained and bound to either side.

Brienne fidgeted nervously with her hands, as she watched their elegant waltz, considering her next move.

_I suppose we should seek privacy…_

“Would you prefer me to close the drapes?” She enquired, perhaps a tad too loudly. “Is it not customary to sequester ourselves away upon our wedding night?”

Jaime removed his jerkin, far more at ease than she. “I should not anticipate an unwelcome intrusion from ocean or sky. And earlier were you not hypnotised by the romance of the heavens? It would be a shame to shutter it out.” Sauntering towards her, he took her chin in his hand, planting a swift peck upon her lips. “No prying eyes shall trespass upon our intimacies my love, on that you have my oath.”

Ever gallant, he bent to kiss her hand and regardless of her agitation she had to roll her eyes at her new husband. “If these are your seduction techniques, we had best prepare for a celibate life.”

“You are questioning _my_ techniques?” He eyed her with incredulity, leaning casually against the bureau.

Two goblets of wine stood at the ready. His required refilling, hers remained untouched. “I have had more welcome receptions from my horse when I am to ride to joust.”

Pouring anew, he sipped his wine and smiled sympathetically. “We are beyond this formality and pretence. That’s why we forewent a traditional ceremony. Speak plainly my wench – what is on your mind? Earlier you were champing at the bit to wrestle me into this bedroom.”

Folding her arms, she tilted her head in indignance. “If you persist in horses’ terms, I cannot possibly entertain why I would be balking.”

“Why not horses’ terms? They are noble creatures...” Placing the cup aside he stood in front of her, stretching in an attempt to look her in the eye. Their noses almost colliding which she was certain he did deliberately to assuage her tension.

_He can be both facetious and endearing._

“…It is all riding afterall.”

“Shush.” She slapped his chest half-heartedly before collapsing against him, resting her forehead on his shoulder.

“It is just intimidating…” Her voice was muffled by the fabric of his undershirt. “…we have known each other so long. After all these years, after all this time….”

His chest jounced as he chuckled, petting her hair with his good hand. “I can assure you it is less awkward if you don’t draw attention to it.” Kissing the side of her head, he surrounded her waist with his right arm, squeezing her closer. “Besides, we love each other. We are at the advantage. Think of how much worse it would be if we were strangers or had to endure a bedding….”

“Oh don’t mention it.” She groaned, pressing her lips to his throat, beginning to enjoy the feel of his touch and the benevolent tempo of their communication.

“It would never have happened anyway.” His jugular hummed beneath her mouth as he spoke. His guttural tones possessive and primal. “I would gut any man who tried to lay a finger upon you – the honours of undressing you are mine alone.”

“Not so much of a mystery – we have already seen each other naked, although it was a long time ago…”

“There, then half the battle is won.”

His hand traversed the contours of her cheeks, lifting her lips to his whilst encouraging her to rise up to full height before him.

Awed instead of daunted by her imposing might he escalated the kiss, his tongue pirouetting into the recesses of her mouth.

It was an aphrodisiac straight to her centre – his acceptance of her peculiarities, the attentiveness behind his gestures and masterful usage of his hand.

_I have been blessed with a considerate husband. _

_Me – the most ungainly and unlikely woman…_

She whimpered as he gently manipulated her body, removing her arms from his chest and placing them at her sides, guiding her to turn around with subtle pressure on her stomach and a nudge on her shoulder. His mouth never left her surface as she spun, effortlessly accommodating her motions by slipping to her ear, then neck. His beard chaffing as he nibbled at the junction of her shoulder making her suspire heavily. “You really know what you’re doing don’t you?”

“Shhhh….”

His fingertips grazed the back of her neck, beginning at her hairline and following down to the fastenings of her dress. Her chest heaved as she leaned into the contact.

“…Just feel.”

Agonisingly slowly, he began to loosen the series of buttons. An onerous process with just a single hand but one he managed with finesse. Each subsequent slackening of her bodice was met with the press of his lips against her spine, worshipping each inch of skin as it was exposed to him.

“Jaime…” She rasped between quaking inhales and exhales. “Do you remember?” 

She swallowed, needing to remind him of what to expect. Praying he wouldn’t be disappointed. “Do you remember what I look like unclothed?”

He stilled behind her, his hand snaking beneath the fabric, skimming feather light trails down her sides, whilst his expiration blew heavy and hot against her back.

“Almost every detail.”

She smiled then, all at once bashful and delighted. Her hiccupping giggle, divulging her contradictions and jumbled nerves. From his knees, Jaime released the final catch, tracing the length of her spine from root to stem, unhindered by binding or attire.

“No wrappings my Sweetling?” He crooned to her, the syrup of his voice, golden and molten. The secretive octave of a lover, beckoning to the carnal within his mate. “You spoil me so…”

“The front is lined and I have barely any bosom to speak of – so it hardly seemed necessary.”

“Scandalous woman - I always suspected the coquette resided within.” He rose back to his feet, nuzzling behind her ear. “Why do you think I call you Wench?”

She guffawed at the absurdity of it. “Twisted irony?”

“Insightful precognition.”

Despite herself she relaxed against him, the familiar pull of her Jaime chasing away the jitters. She closed her eyes whilst she replayed his nonsense through her subconscious. Bemused by his ludicrously outlandish claims as he slid her frock from her shoulders.

“I never thought I would be removing a dress from you…” His commentary purred with happiness as he rolled the blue fabric down to her waist. “I always presumed I would be grappling with tight breeches and hefty tunics. Especially in the winter. It is a pleasant surprise…”

His mouth clamped back down upon her neck as his fingertips found her breast, circling the rounded flesh in an almost ticklish sensation before homing in upon her nipple. Tweaking and rubbing at her teat until she canted against him, pushing into his touch.

“Don’t you rip my gown.” She warned, trying valiantly to sound stern whilst thrumming beneath her skin. “I adore this thing. It has seen me through many years and now my wedding, I will not have it destroyed by your lust.”

In response, he used his stump to push the garment over the curve of her hips, the cool material she loved so much pooling atop her feet whilst he growled against her ear. “Then it’s a damn good thing it is off.” 

She whined when the pressure of his hand and arms momentarily departed, her eyes bolting open in preparation to complain until she saw his undershirt be flung across the dim bower. The muscles of his chest now flush against her back.

_This is torture – prolonged, glorious, wicked torment._

Snaking his left hand around her front, he resumed his ministrations, snaring her in an embrace.

Mimicking the positioning of his arm, she covered it with her own as best she could, rubbing his skin and the back of his hand, hoping the small gesture would persuade him to continue, wanting desperately to reciprocate his affections.

Reaching back, she knotted her hand in his golden mane, massaging his scalp and drawing his head towards her mouth.

_I wish I knew what to do… but I know I want to kiss him. _

Jaime’s eyes were verdant wildfire, green iris’ almost overtaken by dilated black ardour but also - a question.

She could feel it simmering at the edges, an insecurity harboured in similarity to the one she had courageously put to voice just before.

“Ask me.” She whispered against his lips. Anything he could have to say at that moment would be welcome, permissible. Tonight she had bound her life and soul to his and very soon…. her body.

His inhale was ragged. “Are you certain my stump does not bother you?” He glanced down warily to where it rested upon her belly. “I would hate to displease you – make you recoil…”

Cradling his cheek she smiled. “The only thing that would displease me, would be if you deprived me of its touch.” She outlined his chin with her thumb, enjoyed the scrape of his beard against the pad. “I want all of you I can get.”

The impact of his kiss was bruising, her husband’s potency increased by her kindness. His stumped arm bursting into life as the rippled scarline created exquisite friction against her skin. She panted against his lips, overwhelmed by a myriad of sensations erupting across her body all at once, too numerous and divine to track.

But then she gasped as his wrist made the definitive journey south. His stump slipping between her thighs and rubbing against her smallclothes. The gathering dampness plastering them to her charged most intimate areas.

“Jaime…” It was part bleat, part plea as feeling flooded to her uncharted regions.

“Is this alright?” He pecked her cheek. “I thought it would be less confronting.”

She could only nod, rendered incoherent, grinding down upon the sweet traction, as he continued his simultaneous assault on all her senses.

His other hand roamed down, across her sternum and her abdomen. Her breath hitching as she foresaw its destination.

Gently catching in the waistband of her smallclothes and edging them lower, exposing her wetness to the cool air.

She gulped, forcing her timidity down her throat as his kiss permitted her no reprieve. The last of her coverings falling away with the shreds of her modesty. He brought his stump to rest against her hip as his fingers combed through her blonde thicket, a finger stroking softly at her slit.

“What do you like?” He murmured. “When you satisfy yourself…”

“Are you serious?” She squeaked, unable to believe his digits were resting _there. _That he was asking her _that._

“Surely you must pleasure yourself from time to time…”

“Jaime!” Even at this crucial moment he managed to exasperate and vex her. “I have barely left your side for the last few years and prior to that I was but a girl, travelling and guarding my chastity. When exactly would I find the privacy or time?”

He shrugged. “Doubtless you have at least palmed yourself as you bathed…”

“No… I would not risk being caught in such an act.” She was bewildered by his assumption, her complexion aflame. “Aren’t you much the same?”

He actually had the gall to scoff. “Hardly. Although my left hand is not as skilful as I would like… How do you possibly think I have coped?”

A mental image filled her mind’s eye, centred around that which currently pressed into her from behind. The laces of his breeches scratching tantalizingly against her buttocks.

“You do?” She was demure, fearful of the answer but burning with curiosity. “Thinking of me?”

“Of course.” The way he said it was as if it was the most natural thing in the world. That he would find her so enticing as to pursue his deliverance from his cell of sexual frustration. Her image both the lock and the key, keeping him captive whilst promising liberation. “What do you presume I did the morning we awakened together? You had me climbing the walls. I have come countless times with your name upon my lips.” His next phrase was barely audible, the blood rush in her ears roaring like the lion who was fixated upon her. “Now I think it is your turn…”

She stilled as he dipped his finger between her folds, stoking her fire with deliberate movements. Her sensitive bud a bundle of kindling, sparks flying, so close to igniting. But it was nothing compared to what was coming, a prelude to a crescendo as his dextrous digits roamed further and deeper, edging steadily to her opening. 

Brienne’s heart palpitated wildly when he submerged into her virginal cavern, the penetration the first she had ever known. His movements within deliberate and incendiary and now the Maid of Tarth understood why he proclaimed that his passions in life were fighting and fucking. So often they crossed swords, driving each other to breathless exhaustion with iron in their grips, but now it was her within his hand. Their song of steel paled to this ballad of ecstasy, her insides coiling tighter, the sensations too demanding. She mewled, spluttering unintelligible exclamations to the walls. Words in tongues and arcane languages which she did not speak, the dialect of lovers and mind-numbing want. Pursuing a culmination just beyond her grasp. Her knees shook, remaining upright becoming an insurmountable trial as she threw her weight backwards against him in the battle to stay standing. 

“Bed.” Jaime softly commanded. Knowing what she needed by masterful propensity. And for a rare exception she concurred to his orders without protest, letting him lead her by the hand to their mattress like a docile lamb. “Lie down my sweetling.”

Her arms sought his shoulders, dragging him with her, kissing up a firestorm as her back met the sheets. She stunned herself with her forwardness, wriggling beneath him and parting her legs to either side of his hips. Nudging him between her knees and gripping with thighs.

_He did say it was like riding a horse…_

“Patience… patience…” He attempted to pacify her enthusiasm between kisses. “This bout is won by stamina – though you do know how to wear me down.”

He pulled back to tug on his laces, working them loose as his stump drew a path down her centre.

Mapping his course through the ravine of her breasts, the caldera of her navel and the valley of her womanhood. Divesting himself of his breeches, he made the return journey, kissing her mouth before retracing his steps with lips in place of skin.

Each kiss sizzling upon her a branded invisible mark – Ser Jaime’s woman, the Golden Lion’s woman…_his woman. _

Tears sprang to her eyes as memories flooded, of designations intended to slice her open, ‘_Kingslayer’s Whore’. _She wore his brands even then, his scent lingering upon her by simply loving him from afar. ‘_There’s a stink of lion about you, lady.’ _

_My word there is...._

Her hips lifted from the covers, his splayed hand clasping her tightly as his tongue reached the apex of her thighs.

_And I wouldn’t have it any other way. _

She gouged runs in the sheet with her nails, her stranglehold a necessary prevention – otherwise she would grab him, hug him to her, never let him go. The cotton twisted and knotted in her fist, bearing the brunt of her strength, as she urged her legs to still, not to smother him between her vice like muscles.

Jaime crawled back up the length of her, leaning upon his forearms. His countenance serious and splendid and _oh so full of love…_.

“Do you trust me?” Tenderness was his timbre and sincerity saturated his emerald eyes, telling of desires barely restrained but imbued with a caring which surpassed his own needs.

Her hand still quivered as she lifted it to his face, but her voice was clear and sure as a bright Summer’s day as she took her turn to reassure her beloved. “Completely.”

Their kiss that followed was everything; countless miles, conquered dangers, nights lying so close and yet so far. A captor and a prisoner, a lady and a knight, a wench and a Kingslayer, a warrior and a lord – a wife and a husband.

She felt him at her entrance, winced as he pushed inside, rocked with him and teetered upon the fine line between pleasure and pain.

She held on to the moment, cherished it within her heart, holding dear the blissful destruction of the final barrier which stood between them. The way it stung but also soothed. Fulfilling a yawning emptiness inside, untitled but ever present, which could now be designated as … _Jaime._

_Every part of Jaime. Every inch of Jaime. _

Brienne moaned as he gradually increased his rhythm, striving to meet each thrust, undulating to the magnificent of the fullness and essence of their merging. Vaguely aware of his own fervid assertions, that she was good and sweet and his. Only his.

She stifled her cries as the ecstasy built, bottling the rapture, trying to contain the emotion as it bubbled up and made her want to scream aloud.

Never had she granted herself such luxuries, she was stoic, always reticent, her physicality muted from years of training and suppressing. Through hardship she was quiet, through suffering she was steadfast – and now waves of bliss were making her come undone.

“Jaime…Jaime, Jaime…” She puled against his cheek, her frame trembling beneath him with restraint. “My body has only ever known pain. Never pleasure… I don’t know what to do with it.”

“Relinquish… release….” Each syllable from his ardent voice was liquefying. “You are safe with me Brienne; you are safe in my arms. I’m holding you; I’ve got you. Forever - I’ve got you.”

And so, it was in his arms she spiralled. Shouting his name and her love with abandon. Her chorus of disruptive, ethereal refrains resonating throughout the night, with Jaime’s soon mingling in amongst them. 

<><><><><><><> 

In a tangle of white linen, Jaime’s wife pondered the dark sky beyond her chambers. Every sense heightened in the aftermath of their lovemaking.

She felt the gentle currents of air rippling over her naked limbs, the coolness of the sheet threaded between her legs, dotted by maiden’s blood and stemming the flowing river of seed. She savoured the way Jaime buried his handsome face into her neck, bristly chin resting against her bear scars, his sated breaths gusting over her stippled flesh and across her bosom as he cyclically traced the faded line on her thigh. A gift from him in bygone eras.

Completely at peace she clutched her husband’s stump to her chest, rubbing his disfigured wrist and smiling softly as the Evenstar became visible on the horizon.

“That’s you.” Jaime murmured, following her line of vision. “I wish I had a star – maybe in some respects I do. I have you…”

He kissed her maimed cheek and she sighed contentedly.

“It is strange –“ Brienne confided. “- I thought of you once as a star. Beautiful, radiant, unreachable. But now I realise you are more than that.”

She rolled over to look her husband in the eye, lifting a stray blonde curl from his brow and winding it around her fingers. “You do not need a star - you are the sun – golden and shining, bringing life and warmth into my days. Sometimes I think if I stare at you too long I may be blinded. They say mere mortals are not to look upon the Gods.”

“Spoken like a woman who has just achieved her first climax.” Jaime chuckled, enveloping her in his arms and dragging her to his chest. “But I will accept it. For if I am the sun, then I am destined to follow you.”

<><><><><><><><> 

“Are you done?” Jaime seated himself upon the edge of the writing desk, swinging his legs like an impatient child. “There’s plenty of time for that – I’m lonely and require entertaining.”

The Lady of Tarth rolled her eyes. “I set aside time daily to document our journey – as you well know. This memoir is not going to compose itself.”

“Why is it necessary again?” The lion cocked his head to the side. “Can we not just tell our tale? Word of mouth is the best way to spread stories. Where I can embellish and ensure all the most delicious details are included.” He leaned over and nipped at her neck suggestively as she brushed him off with a patient sigh.

“It is for the history books. To be kept in the library here at Evenfall. I will not have generations to come forget the trials we have faced nor let their lessons fade into insignificance, so the mistakes of the past can be repeated.” She patted the margin of the page. “This is our legacy Jaime.”

“It has certainly been a wild ride.” He agreed, slipping from his perch and approaching to read the meticulous script over her shoulder, ringing his arms around her torso. “But do you know what else is important?”

“I’m sure you are going to tell me.” Brienne replied with resignation, lamenting her lost train of thought.

“_Making _those future generations….” He nibbled her ear. “…. Someone instilled in me the importance of upholding vows and I believe we did promise your Father heirs…” He stretched mischievously beneath her arm towards the table, attempting to shut her book. “…duty calls wench.”

“Jaime Tarth!” With reflexes sharper than lightning she shoved the tome across the wood and away from his meddling hand. “It is still setting! You will smudge it.” Her scold lacked conviction as his ticklish kisses began to take precedence.

“That’s alright, we are resourceful. We can certainly multi-task.” His swagger never faltered, nor his wicked tongue. “I can think of a very enticing thing to do as the ink dries….”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt Compliance:  
"...ride to joust."  
"...it is all riding afterall."  
"...he did say it was like riding a horse."  
"It has certainly been a wild ride."
> 
> And my own little Prompt, incorporating the title into the last line. :) 
> 
> <><><><><>
> 
> So I cannot believe it is finished! How far this journey has come from the first couple chapters where I challenged myself to work the 2019 Inktober prompts into a story. We have been taken across the Vale, to the Gates of the Moon, fought off White Walkers and finally sailed our way back to Tarth. This has been incredibly fun! 
> 
> Thank you from the depths of my soul to everyone who has read/commented on this story. I never knew what it would become and it has been the overwhelming support and love for this fic which kept my fingers flying over the keys and made it my second longest tale to date. I love and appreciate you all - you brighten my days and I never tire of reading your reactions! :)
> 
> To keep in touch, I am on Tumblr (@nightreaderenigma) and am happy to talk with my fellow Braimes through email.  
angelenigma23@gmail.com  
Never be shy! I'm a chatty, chatty person! LOL
> 
> In other news, tomorrow night I will be launching my new Christmas fluff-fest - '12 Days of Yuletide Wooing'.  
So check back if you would like to read a festive, lighthearted J/B fic that is cringeworthy sweet! LOL
> 
> Hugs until next time! <3 Madelyn


End file.
